


383 Flavours of Ice-cream

by StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam has energy for the first time ever, And rage, Blue is NOT BEST PLEASED, Everything will be fine, Gansey has concerns, Henry is the best as always, I'll give him some emotional support, M/M, Ronan experiences guilt, and Strangers, and some more guilt, and some unwanted fuzzy feelings, everything is pretty, i'll sort this out, it was more angsty than I intended but roll with it, the good place AU, um spoiler alert everyone is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms/pseuds/StormysHealthyCopingMechanisms
Summary: The Good Place is amazing you should definitely watch it and if you do watch I love and respect your life choices. An AU, in which Ronan Lynch ends up in the wrong place and has to make up for his bad deeds in order to be able to stay.It's an uphill struggle, but Gansey III is up to the task. And to be fair, he has a lot more time on his hands nowadays.I'm going to keep it light, for my own sake, so it won't be super accurate to The Good Place original.





	1. I died, and I'm pretty pissed about it

 

 

‘Ronan.’

He looked up, from the low walnut coffee table, to the dark haired man in the doorway across from him.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in.’

 

He stood, straightening languidly. He didn’t recognise the man, but… Actually, he didn’t recognise anything. He didn’t recognise the pastel painted walls and the beige couch. He didn’t recognise the strange smell of cleanliness that permeated everything in the room. It didn’t smell like chemicals, like the late night hospital visits Ronan remembered, or like a soap scoured body. It smelt crisp, like the crispness of new sheets, or the crispness of spring mornings.

How it could smell of a sensation, Ronan didn’t know, but it did. He followed the man through the open doorway into what looked like a moderately sized office.

‘Please.’ The man circled a desk - more walnut - and settled into a chair on the far side. ‘Take a seat.’

Ronan glanced at the closest chair before he uneasily settled into it. This felt oddly formal, like a headmaster’s scolding (and he’d experienced plenty of those), but he didn’t _know_ this man. At least not that he remembered. And surely he hadn’t done that much damage with the drinking already?

The man across the desk cleared his throat. ‘Ronan.’ He leaned on his elbows, steepling his fingers together. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid that you’ve passed.’

Passed?

Ronan looked back at him blankly. Passed what? An exam? That was improbable, but not impossible. But he didn’t remember taking an exam. Not since he’d dropped out. And pretty rarely before that, too.

‘Passed away.’ The stranger continued. Ronan looked down at the white pad on the desk, the heavy fountain pen. He looked up again, still drawing a blank. Passed away? What the hell was this guy’s-

‘Died.’ He added helpfully. ‘You died, Ronan.’

Ronan scoffed. It was an unpleasant, involuntary sound. Kind of like a t-shirt cannon going off, but with derision.

‘It’s perfectly normal to experience shock. This often comes as a surprise-’

Ronan made the noise again. ‘ _What?’_

‘You passed away. On the eighth of October. You may not remember how at this point, or possibly ever. There is good news, Ronan. You-’

Ronan raised a hand, pressed his eyes closed, and weighed the odds of being able to punch this guy before he saw it coming.

He didn’t know where he was, admittedly, but he knew he wasn’t dead. Because he _wasn’t_. He was… right here. Alive. Living. Intact. He opened his eyes, and glared disdainfully across the desk. ‘I’m supposed to be dead?’

The stranger, stalled halfway through his sentence and eyeing Ronan’s raised hand cautiously, continued gently; ‘Honestly, we don’t control that kind of thing… so “supposed to be” isn’t exactly accurate, but you _are_ dead. You’ve passed from the confines of the mortal realm into the afterlife.’ His expression melted into a broad smile. ‘Congratulations, Mr. Lynch. You’ve made it to the Good Place.’

Ronan blinked at him. One of his hands still hovered aimlessly in midair.

‘What? Wait, _what?’_

If this was one of Kavinsky’s punk-ass weird shit games Ronan was going to throw him off a bridge.

 

 

 

‘It’s on account of your steadfast moral fortitude that you made it into the Good Place at all, Ronan.’

‘What?’

He couldn’t stop saying it. He’d tried, and he just couldn’t. It kept slipping out, from disbelief and confusion and frustration. And… fear, probably. Because he didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, and he didn’t know what was happening. And also because the last thing he did remember was racing.

It was more than possible that Kavinsky was fucking with him. Drugs, possibly. An elaborate set-up. But that meant Kavinsky had finally made a move, crossed the line, and that was _bad_.

Another problem was it was also possible that he _was_ dead. He’d had so many near misses recently. He’d suspected death was close.

Or it could all be one twisted concoction produced by his own warped mind. Yep. That was completely plausible. Fantastic.

Also, this individual seemed seriously dense. He’d been grinning for a full three minutes now and hadn’t stopped. It was unsettling. And what was this about moral fortitude? What the actual fuck?

He hadn’t noticed Ronan’s confusion. He also apparently hadn’t noticed the bloodstains on the black tank Ronan was wearing, the shaved hair, the black jeans, the boots, the overwhelming out-of-placeness. Or the vague horror that Ronan was just emanating in spades.

He wasn’t _dead_. And this wasn’t _Heaven_. Ronan had tossed away that absurd concept a long time ago. Because of his father. Because of _reality_.

This was a trick. A game. Some shady underhanded little plot.

Or a nightmare. Or a mental breakdown.

All in all, a great list of options.

‘And your decision to use that trauma to help others…’ The stranger was bleating cheerfully. ‘An incredible capacity to be selfless and heal people, especially when you are most fragile. A _marvel_.’

Ronan could feel his eyebrows trying to escape his forehead. He asked distantly; ‘What?’

‘Of course, it’s going to be such an honour to have you here. You were very high on the rankings, you understand. Very high. Can’t say how high, of course, but it was-’ The man paused, gestured meaningfully. ‘-superb.’

‘Wh-’

‘And the Good Place is special, you know. I mean, it’s designed for individuals of your calibre - good individuals - like the other neighbourhoods, but you were such an impressive group we had to do something particularly innovative to make you feel as comfortable as possible.’

‘-at?’

‘Obviously it is going to be a lot to process, and you need time. Oh, I almost forgot.’ He extended one hand across the desk so rapidly Ronan rocked back in his chair. ‘I am Gabriel. I will be overseeing the establishment of this neighbourhood.’

 _Gabriel_.

No. Just no.

Gingerly, Ronan shook his hand. It was a strange, bruising pressure, but it didn’t hurt. The man - Ronan was hesitant to call him Gabriel - withdrew his hand with a strained smile and flexed his fingers. ‘My apologies. Not quite used to this physical form yet.’

Ronan managed to restrain his next ‘what’ in favour of staring.

He looked human.

Skin. Face. Teeth

Attractive, sure, but that was _possible_. He looked too clean-cut and sane to be one of Kavinsky’s people, that was for goddamned sure. But he could be something else. A delusion. A doctor?

Ronan’s mind flickered to Declan. He was a dick, definitely, but was he enough of a dick to do this?

No. Probably not.

God, Matthew. If there was anything Ronan knew for sure, he had to get back to Matthew. Didn’t he? It wasn’t as though he was prone to taking responsibility for Matthew’s upbringing… Didn’t matter. He needed to protect his brother.

‘If you’re feeling a little better, we can walk?’ Gabriel gestured to the door. ‘I’ll show you the neighbourhood. It might help with the… er, transition.’

Ronan twitched. ‘To…’

Gabriel nodded reassuringly, still smiling. ‘To the Good Place.’

 

 

 

If he was dead - which he wasn’t - Ronan wouldn’t be… here.

He didn’t think he would be… anywhere.

But not in the Good Place. Not in _a_ Good Place. Nope, that was pretty assured.

Gabriel’s office connected to a small waiting room, where Ronan had been. He didn’t remember arriving. He didn’t remember waking up. He just remembered the door opening, and Gabriel looking out, and saying his name.

Jesus, this was the worst hangover ever.

He’d been racing, so it was safe to assume he hadn’t been drinking then. But maybe afterwards, and that was what had effectively cancelled out the last twenty-four hours in his mind.

He didn’t have a headache. He didn’t have a craving for a stack of pizza pockets and a cheesecake. He didn’t have a deep-seated feeling of existential dread.

Which could just mean he was extremely hydrated, rather than dead.

Gabriel pushed open the other door in the waiting room, which Christ, yes, did look like a weirdly Truman Show-esque mindfuck, and the bright sunlight hit Ronan in the face.

The sky was blue. Horribly blue. Like walking into a children’s cartoon. The sun was stapled to a point right above them, and even as Ronan squinted up at it his stomach turned. Despite the light pouring across his face he couldn’t feel it burning his nocturnally pale skin, or searing his eyes, or even being absorbed unpleasantly by his dark clothing.

He was warm, in a nice, thorough manner. He was unnervingly comfortable.

He looked down, and swallowed hard.

They were outdoors, ostensibly. In some place Ronan had never seen before. On a little, paved street winding away from them.

It was a dream, Ronan realised. The houses were painted different colours, close by the road, two or three floors high and all with flowers growing from every window box. The doors were all white. Everything was clean, everything was so sharply in focus it made him want to shut his eyes against it.

Something touched his shoulder and he shoved it away reflexively.

It was Gabriel, hovering nearby, still placidly smiling. ‘I can see that this is a lot to take in. But I have a surprise that may help you feel slightly better.’

Ronan shot him a look that he hoped conveyed an acerbic wit that was currently beyond the reach of his brain and mouth.

Gabriel ignored it.

So… this was fucked up. But it was probably just a dream. A protracted exercise in self-torture. Or just self-alienation, perhaps? It depended on what Gabriel produced as the next fun “surprise” and whether it tried to melt his face off or not.

They walked down the paved lane. There were people here, conspicuous by their strangely definitive faces, not the blurry shapeless ones common to Ronan’s dreams. There was a woman on a bicycle, who dinged the bell obnoxiously as she cycled past. There was a man walking a small terrier, who grinned widely at both of them and greeted Gabriel. Just at the curve in the lane there was a whole stack of them, seated at grossly quaint umbrella shaded tables, eating ice-cream and chattering vacuously amongst themselves, like a bunch of non-player-characters with too much dialogue for Ronan to absorb.

He was gritting his teeth, unconsciously. He forced himself to stop.

Gabriel was talking still, and Ronan was finding it hard to focus on him instead of the dozen other voices and the sunlight and the surreal clarity of this dreamworld.

‘-obviously quite a significant population-’

This felt like an acid trip, if he was being honest with himself. But like a near-death experience acid trip. Maybe it was dying - how that nanosecond before death was supposedly capable of lasting indefinitely as the neural systems shut down. Maybe it _was_ death.

Gabriel turned suddenly onto the sidewalk, and led Ronan through a small gate between two houses.

‘-and there are individual stylistic preferences to take into account-’

The question, in actuality, wasn’t one of “how could he be dead?” but of “how could he be here?”

They were passing through a park of some sort, lush with grass and dotted with gazebos in a range of hues and styles.

‘-but it’s a new model, of course, and it’s my first time implementing anything of this scale-’

If here was _here_. If Heaven existed. And the Good Place was it. If this wasn’t his last seconds of consciousness trying to salvage something from the wreckage of his smouldering life choices.

‘-if I had to judge, _had to_ , this early on in the process, I’d have to say it’s going tremendously so far, but you never know, do you? I mean, obviously I do, as an infinite divine being… but… you know.’

Gabriel stopped, rather suddenly, and Ronan skidded to a halt next to him. He raised both arms grandly. ‘What do you think?’

Ronan looked past him, seized by doubt and perplexity.

It was a house.

A nice house… but a house. It didn’t seem to be leaking blood from the walls, or distorting in his peripheral vision, or whispering in Latin on the breeze.

It just seemed like an ordinary, if massive, house. Kind of… beige. Kind of… American Dream. It had a wrap-around porch and a green lawn with a large tree out the front.

Ronan looked sideways, at Gabriel’s beaming countenance.

Probably this was some frustrating subconscious thing where his brain filled in a bunch of details that made no sense. Like him having “moral fortitude” and helping to “heal people”. _Yeah, right_.

He nodded vacantly in response to Gabriel’s expression. Maybe there was some point to all this, rather than the aimless existential wanderings of his own mind.

And it probably wouldn’t hurt to check the situation out. In case he was dead. And in… the Good Place?

What were his other damn options?

Gabriel continued, happily, up the garden path, and Ronan followed more slowly. It felt real. The solidity of the ground, the weight and feel of his own clothes. The odour of the grass, uncut, but still freshly green-smelling somehow.

He touched his face, carefully, wondering if it was a Salvador Dali painting, but it seemed ordinary. As an afterthought, he pressed his fingers to his throat, but Gabriel had already climbed the stairs and rapped smartly on the door.

There was somebody here.

_Heaven._

Every cell, alive or dead, in Ronan’s body plummeted downwards. He felt it. A swoop of catastrophic system failure. If this was heaven-

The door opened. Ronan’s chest caved in.

It was another stranger. Another man, or not even. He was probably only Ronan’s age, if that. Shorter, sturdier. And perfect as a picture. A swoop of golden brown hair, wide, bright eyes. He stood like someone had arrived to present him with a knighthood, and they were late.

But his mouth was closed tight, and there was no positive or negative response to Gabriel’s presence at all. His gaze flicked to Ronan and back, no change. Something beneath the surface fluctuated, momentarily, as the silence stretched on.

He opened his mouth, and said with considerable strain; ‘Gabriel. Hi.’

‘Sorry to bother you again so soon, Richard.’ Gabriel smiled toothily. ‘But I’ve made progress much more quickly than expected.’

Richard glanced to Ronan again, and for the second his eyes lingered Ronan could see the panic rising in them.

He exhaled, lowly, and dropped his hand from his own neck. At least he wasn’t the only one around here who was fucked.


	2. How to be dead and anxious

Richard stood aside to let them enter the house.

They were suddenly, abruptly, in a broad marble-floored foyer. Ronan curled his lip at the sheer decadence of the place, the black grand piano, the four square metres of abstract blue and lemon canvas on the wall over the sofa, the huge crystal vase of white lilies on the central table. Richard had drawn back, towards the centre of the room, his face composed but his manner tense.

An impossible amount of light spilled over him, but Ronan couldn’t identify where it was all coming from.

‘I hope everything has been to your satisfaction, Richard.’ Gabriel carried on, smoothly failing to notice the unenthusiastic mood pervading the room. ‘This is Ronan Lynch. Ronan, this is Richard Gansey. The Third.’

‘Call me Gansey.’ The boy interjected automatically.

‘Gansey.’ Gabriel repeated; ‘Sorry, yes, Gansey, isn’t it?’

He turned to Ronan, waiting near the door. ‘Now, I understand that this may require a good deal of explanation, but the important thing to remember is that you are not alone.’

Richard Gansey (the _Third_ ) fidgeted, trying to contain an expression of alarm.

Gabriel concluded brightly; ‘Richard is your soulmate.’

 

Ronan waited a few seconds before he laughed.

Once he’d started, it was difficult to stop. It seemed to alleviate at least some of the tension, especially when his eyes started watering and he had to lean on the wall.

The boy calling himself Gansey deflated slightly, like he’d been holding his breath, and seemed to settle his nerves.

Gabriel seemed pleased with this development, as if Ronan’s laughter was due to joy instead of blatant hysteria.

Dream, trick, afterlife… This was just embarrassing.

When Ronan recovered himself, marginally, he looked from Gabriel to Gansey with a respectful nod. That was well-played. He had to give someone kudos for that.

Gansey’s mouth curved slightly, and Ronan would have bargained plenty that he was experiencing the same baffled amusement.

Not that he currently had much to bargain with.

‘A soulmate-’ Gabriel explained; ‘-is an individual with whom you share an unbreakable bond. As you can see, not everyone encounters their soul mate in the mortal realm, but they are able to spend the infinite length of the afterlife together.’

Ronan raised both eyebrows, not failing to notice Gansey pinching his nose anxiously.

‘That’s not going to… That’s _not_ …’

‘It’s okay!’ Gabriel interrupted, lifting both hands placatingly. ‘It often takes a long period of adjustment and familiarisation before soul mates are truly comfortable together.’ He smiled wider and added with self-congratulatory zest; ‘That’s human nature.’

Gansey visibly winced.

‘There is an introductory party for the neighbourhood this evening.’ Gabriel continued. ‘In fact, there is an introductory party every evening. And there are very few people left to be integrated, so you can meet most of the community there if you feel up to it. I will give you time to think it over this afternoon. And… to talk. To… each other.’

Gabriel nodded firmly, swivelled around, and abandoned Ronan to the foyer and the ensuing uncomfortable silence.

 

 

 

Gansey, at least, seemed slightly more relaxed after Gabriel had left.

Ronan couldn’t understand why. He felt like his limbs had turned to jelly.

What the hell did that mean, soulmate? Under _any_ circumstances? Soulmates were just as absurd as heaven. And _this_ … Gansey…

Ronan wasn’t able to deal with that, in any way at all. He slouched back against the wall and examined his companion with emphatic disdain.

He looked like someone who might end up in the Good Place, if it was real. Sensible and polite and… _rich_. Unusually clean around the edges, but maybe everyone here looked like that.

Except for Ronan, who still felt and presumably looked like he’d drunkenly fallen out of a plane, crashed through all the branches of a tree, landed in a ditch, and only woken up three days later with a hangover and a raccoon for a friend.

Gansey pinched his nose again, and began to search around nervously. 

‘So you’re dead.’ Ronan prompted flatly.

‘I…’ Gansey hesitated. ‘I guess so. That’s what Gabriel said.’ He looked at Ronan, half-wary, half-apologetic. ‘I’m still… trying to figure out what’s happening. If… you know… this isn’t some kind of, uh-’

‘Breakdown?’

Gansey didn’t answer immediately, but he found a pair of glasses on the side table and slipped them on. Ronan frowned, irritated by him looking suddenly twice as academic and at least four times as wholesome.

‘No 20/20 vision in the afterlife?’

‘Oh.’ Gansey shrugged. ‘Yes. I asked Henry to give me these. I kept looking for them out of habit.’

‘Who’s Henry?’

‘Hi!’ A figure materialised, literally materialised, about three inches from Ronan’s right shoulder.

He flinched, nearly took a swing at the offending individual, and responded sharply. ‘Jeeps forking Chrysler what the fork-’

‘I’m Henry.’ The young man said smoothly. ‘How can I help you?’

‘What the fork?’ Ronan staggered, raising a hand to his mouth. ‘Good ham, what the fork is happening?’

‘You are unable to swear in the Good Place.’ Henry informed him placidly. ‘We have determined it is detrimental to a human’s wellbeing.’

’I can’t forking swear?’ Ronan ran his tongue between his teeth, and closed his jaw tight enough to feel a ripple of pain. ‘That’s forked.’

Gansey smiled at him sympathetically. ‘It’s true.’

Ronan formulated a particularly vicious response, but decided to bite it down to escape further humiliation. He fumed silently instead, hands balled into fists at his side.

‘Henry is a kind of helper for the residents.’ Gansey explained, and Henry affirmed this with a smug nod. ‘He’s here to provide information and assistance when it’s needed.’

Gansey’s delivery could have been pulled word-by-word from a welcome video, and Ronan had little doubt that was where he’d learned it.

‘Is he a person?’ Ronan asked suspiciously, edging backwards.

‘I am not a person.’ Henry answered calmly, smiling.

‘Are you a robot?’

‘I am not a robot.’

‘What are you?’

‘I help the residents.’ Henry said, gaze unbroken. Ronan grimaced at him.

‘You… just arrived, then?’ Gansey continued, apparently immune to the effects of the unnaturally attentive Henry.

Ronan glanced at him. ‘Looks that way.’

‘I’ve been here for two days.’ Gansey said. ‘I keep expecting to…’ He gestured helplessly. ‘…wake up.’

Ronan nodded. ‘Yeah no shirt.’ He winced. ‘No shirt. Oh, forking _yell_.’

Another smile, slightly less stilted, flickered across Gansey’s face. ‘I was with Gabriel for three hours trying to figure out what was happening. I gather you adjusted much more quickly than I did.’

‘Adjusted.’ Ronan shrugged. ‘Maybe. Accepted? Yell no.’

Gansey nodded, fervently. ‘You agree that this is… strange?’

‘Strange? We’re supposed to be _dead_. That’s not really my definition of ordinary.’

‘You are both deceased.’ Henry chimed in brightly. ‘You are now residents of the Good Place.’

‘Thank you, Henry.’ Gansey replied wearily.

‘How are we dead?’ Ronan turned his gaze on the third occupant of the room. ‘ _Specifically_. What are we now?’

‘You rolled your car off the shoulder of a gravel road.’ Henry supplied cordially. Ronan curled a lip, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Gansey examine him cautiously. ‘Richard fell while rock-climbing after experiencing a panic attack.’

Gansey flinched.

‘Now you are human souls residing in the afterlife. Every physical sensation here is an illusion, but your souls will last eternally.’

‘Does the Good Place contain everyone’s souls?’

‘No.’ Henry looked mildly amused by this question. ‘Only the best of the best are rewarded with entry into the Good Place. And only the best of the best of the best enter this new neighbourhood.’

Ronan exhaled through gritted teeth. _Great_. This didn’t seem like a giant mistake at all.

‘How many is that?’ Gansey asked. ‘Where do the rest go?’

‘Three hundred.’ Henry replied, permitting a knowing nod. ‘And two. Gabriel and me, Henry. The rest of the souls are sent to the Bad Place.’

Gansey’s eyes widened to orbs behind his pointless glasses. Even Ronan’s eyebrows made an attempt to hide themselves in the remnants of his hair.

’They’re all in the Bad Place?’ Gansey repeated faintly. ‘How many is that?’

‘Since the beginning of time?’ Henry perched his chin, birdlike, on a folded hand. ‘I would need to run those calculations. It would take me several days-’

‘No! No, no.’ Gansey blushed. ‘No, I just mean… how good do you have to be to get into the Good Place?’

Both he and Ronan watched Henry drop the hand, tip his head, and smile charmingly. Ronan could feel something hanging in the air, like the blade of a guillotine. Evidence that this was a dream, and about to be a nightmare.

‘Goodness rankings.’ Henry explained. ‘To obtain a position in the Good Place, you must be in the top three hundred of every four thousand souls.’

The blade dropped. Ronan felt his body go cold, somehow. Across from them, Gansey tilted like he’d lost his balance, and started looking vaguely nauseous.

 _Everyone else was in the pit?_ Ronan shook his head, mechanically. That was insane. That wasn’t _right_.

Henry looked unfazed by the sudden shift in mood. He looked from Gansey to Ronan, and smiled.

There were dozens of questions bubbling to the surface of Ronan’s mind. How could he get out? What happened in the Bad Place? Who had foolishly sent him here? Did this Gansey guy look so ill because he was actually feeling sorry for all those other bastards, or was he, like Ronan, looking for people he knew? Family? How could they live eternally without going nuts?

Most importantly, were either of them actually dead?

Was Gansey even real? He didn’t look it. He looked exactly like some horrible present Ronan’s subconscious would have gift-wrapped for him, with something nasty hidden in it just for when he let his guard down.

‘Why do we look like this?’ Ronan asked.

Henry, for the first time, looked slightly surprised. ‘This is your appearance.’

‘I know _that_. Why does he look like that? Why do you look like this?’

Gansey looked surprised, but he waited patiently to hear the response.

‘Richard-

‘ _Gansey_.’

‘-arrived in the clothes in which he perished. He has procured new clothes. I am-’

‘Wait, wait… So, they gave those to you?’ Ronan pointed at Gansey’s light blue polo, beige chinos, leather shoes. ‘Those aren’t your clothes?’

Gansey looked wounded. ‘Actually, no. I mean, yes, they are mine.’

Ronan stared at him.

‘This is… This is my wardrobe.’ He extended his arms and looked down defensively. ‘This is what I always wear.’

Ronan’s eyebrows, once again, attempted to flee his forehead.

‘So aside from your clothes you died… like this?’ He waved his arm in a general way, and when Gansey nodded, swivelled on Henry. ‘And you?’

‘I did not die.’ Henry clarified. ‘I was programmed to conform to expectations. Therefore I typically reflect the mean age of the residents of the Good Place neighbourhood.’

‘Fork.’

‘Ronan.’ It startled him to hear Gansey use his name. ‘I think we ought to talk.’

Ronan hesitated, already cursing his slide into subconscious trapsville, but he didn’t immediately surrender. He asked Henry; ‘What would happen if there was, say, a massive cork-up, and someone in the Good Place was meant to be in the Bad Place?’

He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He focused the rest of his energy on not turning flame-red and looking any more like an idiot in front of either of them.

Henry nodded sagely. ‘That would never occur. It is impossible.’

‘Ok.’ He sighed. ‘But if… _theoretically_ … it did? What would happen?’

Thoughtfully, Henry responded; ‘They would be sent to the Bad Place immediately. And whoever was intended to be here originally would be found to replace them.’ Satisfied, he lapsed back into smugness.

‘Right.’ Ronan looked at Gansey. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

 

 

 

Gansey sent Henry away, which was apparently as easy as saying ‘Bye’, and sank, defeated, onto the sofa. Ronan had to follow him further into the house because the foyer was so obscenely large he couldn’t hear him from the doorway.

‘There is something seriously wrong here.’ He muttered.

‘That’s one yell of an understatement.’ Ronan said snidely.

Gansey looked up, all of his remaining equanimity collapsing. ‘I can’t believe I’m _dead_.’ He fretted his fingers together. ‘And even if I am dead, I’m not supposed to be _here_.’

Ronan snorted. ‘Really?’

Gansey seemed stunned by his sarcasm, and Ronan felt a flicker of guilt. He was supposed to be dead, after all. Or… imaginary. Either way he was definitely having a rough day.

‘I never did anything _good_.’ Gansey flapped a hand miserably. ‘I just… I thought I had more time. I thought I could fix things.’

Ronan narrowed his eyes, measuring his opponent. This seemed like a trap. Talking to polo-boy… admitting anything to him… seemed like a damn fool idea.

But he also looked really fucking tragic.

‘Hey, man.’ Ronan shrugged. ‘You can’t have forked up like I did. I died street racing… I guess.’

Gansey looked up, and straightened his glasses tentatively. ‘You don’t think you belong here?’

Ronan mirrored Gansey’s actions from earlier, spreading his hands to highlight that _yes, this was, in fact, the outfit I kicked the bucket in_.

‘Do you think we’re really dead?’ Gansey queried, looking even more tragically hopeful.

‘I’m not liking my odds.’ Ronan admitted. ‘But I think I might be having a really forked up dream.’

Gansey relaxed, just a bit, reassured. ‘I’m glad it’s not just me. This whole situation seems… Well… Shirt.’

‘You really been here two days?’ Ronan asked warily. Gansey frowned at the floor.

‘Well, yes. Just here, mostly.’ He glanced up. ‘I wasn’t prepared to go outside.’

_Huh. Understandable._

‘What’s your plan?’

‘I was waiting until I was desperate and then I was going to go search for a way out.’ Gansey answered. ‘Or a way… you know. A way of identifying what’s real.’

‘Right.’ Ronan shifted unhappily. ‘I guess that’s Plan A.’

Gansey stood, shook off any visible sign of his nerves, and nodded. ‘Alright. Let me show you the house, first. If you want to…’ He didn’t finish, and he didn’t have to. _Change. Shave. Stop looking like you’ve been hit with a torpedo_.

‘Wait, Gansey.’ Ronan didn’t like the way the name rolled off his tongue. He didn’t like it at all.

But Gansey still turned and looked at him expectantly, halfway towards a stupid fancy archway set into the wall.

‘What the fork is a soulmate?’


	3. What part of "Eternal Paradise" are you not understanding?

Ronan was unable to keep a straight face through Gansey’s explanation.

‘It can be platonic.’ Gansey offered. ‘ _Or_ romantic. The important thing is that you’re an emotional, intellectual and spiritual partner for your soulmate.’

He seemed to have distanced himself from the process by viewing it as some kind of arcane curiosity rather than a reality, and pondered it at length as he showed Ronan the rest of the house.

‘Soulmates don’t have to live together.’ He noted at one point, letting Ronan into a fourth bedroom. ‘But Gabriel said a house reflects the needs of both individuals.’

He caught Ronan’s doubtful glance at the brocade bedcovers and the double drapes, and continued apologetically. ‘But since it’s only been me so far... I guess it hasn’t really adapted at all.’

‘If a soulmate moved out, it can still work, but it’s not optimal, apparently. It sets souls on different pathways. I suppose that means souls are not static entities? Even in death they can change. We can change.’

‘Most people know their soulmates from before death, I gather. And living together is a relatively natural outcome.’

‘You trust it?’ Ronan asked. 

Gansey caught the accusation in his tone. ‘I... don’t know, Ronan. I’ve been waiting for something to happen, or to understand what’s happening, and it hasn’t worked. I’m still here. Nothing’s changing. It’s not going away.’

Two days alone in a dream? Ronan could understand that would drive a man to question his own existence, and potential demise.

If Ronan stayed - if any of this stayed - than would that mean he’d really end up as Gansey’s soulmate? Was that possible? 

Or was Ronan taking the place of someone else? Or did neither of them have soulmates, because neither of them were supposed to be here?

Gansey showed him into another room, and hung silently in the doorframe as Ronan absorbed the contents. 

‘What.’ Ronan lifted both eyebrows and swivelled slowly to stare at him. ‘The fork.’

Gansey shrugged half-heartedly. ‘I have trouble sleeping.’

The only features of Gansey’s model village that Ronan recognised were Gabriel’s office and the little avenue they’d followed to reach the house. The park was larger than Ronan had realised, hosting a lake and apparently attached to a forest or some kind of plantation according to Gansey’s rows of felt trees. 

‘How did you get all this shirt?’ Ronan asked, and immediately winced.

‘I asked Henry.’ Gansey admitted. ‘Well, I guess I didn’t, really. Or at least, I didn’t have to.’ 

‘He just showed up with it?’

‘Yeah. We’re all in his database, apparently.’ He looked slightly perturbed. ‘Down to the last detail.’

Ronan scowled. ‘If he knows who you are, then obviously you’re in the right place.’

‘He doesn’t bring people here.’ Gansey responded firmly. ‘He doesn’t make the decisions.’

‘You think Gabriel forked it up?’ Ronan asked. ‘And Henry hasn’t told him we suck?’

‘It’s a possibility.’ Gansey carefully straightened what looked like a bell tower. ‘One of several.’

Ronan nodded curtly. There was a significant probability that this whole conversation wasn’t real.

‘I tried mapping the Good Place to see if there are any discrepancies, but everything changes on a daily basis.’

‘Changes?’

Gansey hummed and tapped his fingers on the miniature version of his own house. ‘I don’t know. I think so.’

‘Guess we’ll find out.’

 

 

 

They walked through the park, because it was close and because Gansey was still wary of outsiders.

Ronan could understand why. Every other person around seemed overjoyed to reside in the Good Place. Most of them were older, but none were over thirty. Nearly all of them had broad, creepy grins plastered onto their faces, and were excitedly clamouring to see every tiny detail of the environment around them, from the bright blue sky to the mouldings on the buildings. Even in the park they fawned over the green of the grass and the little flowers winding up through the legs of the shaded benches.

They greeted Gansey and Ronan in passing, informally, as though they were lifelong friends, and Ronan didn’t look like a repulsive delinquent.

He’d changed, at least. Henry had given him jeans and a t-shirt, but they were still black because the bastard claimed only those matched Ronan’s profile.

He stood out like a scar on the landscape. Everyone else seemed to be wearing pastels and button-ups and nicely pressed slacks. Some of the women were wearing dresses, some of the men were wearing blazers or dress jackets. Ronan had to actively prevent himself from sneering at them.

The park was tolerable, at least. Gansey showed him the lake, dotted with boats that sailed themselves, and the forest, split with slow meandering streams and padded all through with moss underfoot.

Gansey explained his fate with impressive clarity. He’d been climbing in Wales - abseiling, technically, and even then just for safety - when part of the rock face had collapsed and dropped him.

He would have survived, he maintained, if the fall hadn’t swung him head first into a rock. It was the head wound that had made him dizzy and confused and everything else turn to a haze of noise and greyness.

He’d panicked, lost control of his breathing, and after that he didn’t remember anything until Gabriel had invited him into the office.

Ronan recounted his own memory, of driving the BMW in the dark. He could barely remember who he was racing, but he thought it must have been one of Kavinsky’s pack. Not Kavinsky himself… Ronan would remember.

He asked about Gansey’s family, and the answer pretty much confirmed his expectations. Senatorial. Big money. Old money.

The rock climbing didn’t interest him so much as the panic attack, the insomnia, the lingering distrust of the happy, stepford smiling wandering souls in the Good Place.

Gansey asked about him in return, and Ronan knew he’d already made the relevant assumptions. Angry and bitter. Alone.

But he had Matthew, and that was what he told Gansey. If there was any chance this wasn’t real, any chance he could get out and get home, he’d take it.

Gansey had the same intention, but for different reasons. Life was important to him, he explained. He had a mystery to solve, a goal to pursue.

He told Ronan about Glendower, some long-dead Welsh King that he was determined, destined to find.

Ronan was about to ask about the foundation of this supposed destiny when he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye, and stopped.

Gansey faltered, looking back at him uncertainly. ‘What’s wrong?’

Ronan pointed, silent, and heard Gansey’s intake of breath when he saw the object of Ronan’s attention.

She must have been the only one in the whole neighbourhood who was as unusual-looking as Ronan. It was the navy blue skirt, cross-cut with random patches of colour, underneath a ink-patterned shirt. It was the spiky multidirectional hair, and the tights and the candy striped boots.

Her outfit made Ronan’s eyes _and_ brain hurt, but he knew instantly that she was as out-of-place as he was, especially standing next to the twice-as-tall Gabriel in his flawless suit.

Her manner was telling. She was standing with her hands on her hips, glowering at something on the ground, and the only person around except them who wasn’t grossly happy to be here.

Gansey made a direct beeline for her, balking only slightly when they got close enough to see the figure lying on the ground at her feet.

On closer inspection, it didn’t look like she had kicked him down there, which had been Ronan’s initial impression. He brushed off his disappointment. The boy was hardly conforming to Good Place norms either, in dark cargoes and a faded t-shirt. He was blocking the sunlight with one arm, otherwise prone on his back.

Gabriel brightened considerably when Gansey reached them, and even more when Ronan came slinking over afterwards.

The short girl gave Gansey one glance and looked severely unimpressed, but narrowed her eyes at Ronan curiously.

‘This is Richard, and Ronan has just arrived this morning.’ Gabriel introduced cheerfully.

‘ _Gansey,_ please.’

‘Gansey, of course. This is Blue.’ He indicated the girl politely. ‘And Adam. They’re your neighbours.’ He clapped his hand together as though that was a great feat in itself.

The boy on the grass sat up, pulling his knees in for balance, and climbed to his feet. He offered his hand to Gansey, who shook it heartily, and to Ronan, who glanced down disdainfully before accepting. The boy looked down too, and Ronan _felt_ the mere second his gaze lingered on the silver lines crossing his forearm.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ He said formally, and stepped back to Blue’s side. Ronan caught the faint murmur of a southern drawl under his words, muffled slightly by his apparent attempt to conceal it.

‘I’m glad to see you are getting to know one another.’ Gabriel smiled at Gansey, and Ronan forced down the urge to give him the middle finger. To Blue, Gabriel said; ‘Of course you should do whatever you think is best. I hope you’ll all be at the party this evening.’ He nodded warmly to each of them and strode away across the grass.

Blue was still eyeing Ronan off suspiciously, but Adam had settled into patient silence, as though he was just waiting for their pleasantries to be over so he could leave.

‘Blue?’ Gansey repeated blankly. ‘Is that short for something?’

Ronan noticed the lanky boy’s eyes widening. _oh god_. Maybe she really had kicked him.

The girl, formidably, began to glare. ‘What are you implying, _Gansey_?’

Ronan twitched, suppressed a snort. Lanky kid pressed his lips together in an attempt to avoid cringing.

‘Nothing, I…’ Gansey floundered. ‘Did you two know each other before you arrived?’

Blue said; ‘Yes’ exactly as Adam answered; ‘No.’

There was a pause. Ronan raised an eyebrow. Gansey looked uncomfortable.

‘No.’ Blue corrected, glancing at her companion critically. ‘Only by sight.’

‘Oh.’ Gansey said vaguely, before adding, with greater intention. ‘Oh.’

Ronan lifted the other eyebrow. ‘You never actually met?’

Not very _soulmatey_ to never introduce yourself to the person you’re destined to spend eternity with… but… whatever.

Adam shook his head, apparently unbothered by this line of questioning.

Blue lifted her shoulders and said forcefully; ‘I’ve learned to avoid Aglionby people.’

Aglionby boys, Ronan thought snidely.

 _Wait_ -

‘You’re from Henrietta?’ He asked sharply. _Aglionby_ … It couldn’t be the same. But Adam’s faint accent made it impossible that it could be anything else.

Blue stared at him. Adam frowned at the ground.

‘Yes.’ She answered slowly, distrustful. ‘You know-’

Adam looked up, his expression morphing into surprise. ‘You’re Ronan _Lynch_?’

Gansey was as startled by his recognition as Ronan was. He glanced between the two of them in a baffled attempt to reconcile this information with their appearances.

Ronan realised, with sudden alarm, how very much his reputation was capable of ruining him. He stared at Adam, but couldn’t summon any excuse, lie, explanation. He said flatly; ‘Yeah. That’s me.’

The surprise had been replaced, swiftly, by unreadable composure. Adam assessed him with a single smooth glance down his frame.

‘Right.’ He said, mildly. ‘I enrolled after you left.’

‘Oh.’ Gansey rejoined warmly. ‘Oh, so you all came from the same town?’

He seemed, amazingly, genuinely pleased by this revelation.

Blue sighed. ‘I guess so.’

She was even more wary of Ronan now, which actually seemed to be a sensible response. It probably explained her attitude to Adam, too, if she was some native who had learned to loathe the Aglionby type.

Adam didn’t look Aglionby, though. He looked exactly like a Henrietta kid, down to the dust-coloured skin and worn-out clothing.

Gansey glanced sideways at Ronan. If anyone else in town was questioning this reality, it was probably these two. Which would make sense, if there was some kind of cosmic fuckery linked to Henrietta, and there normally was. But Gansey… wasn’t from Henrietta. And if he wasn’t nervous as all hell about being here, he could easily be mistaken for one of the happy beige morons wandering around.

But Ronan didn’t have to live with these two, so they really weren’t his problem.

‘It’s been lovely.’ Gansey said, with the impressive appearance of sincerity.

Blue nodded, and Adam smiled politely as they walked away.

‘That seems… odd.’ Gansey remarked carefully, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Ronan grunted agreement.

‘So they died that young?’

‘Like us? Clearly.’

‘A coincidence?’

‘Gansey, we’re in Heaven.’

There was a pause. Gansey yielded; ‘I see your point, but that seems… Henry?’

The assistant materialised directly ahead and Ronan flinched. ‘Good forking ham it.’

‘Henry, do you ever get groups of people from the same place?’

Henry smirked. ‘Absolutely. Soulmates often meet during life, and are reunited after death with each other and close family members.’

Gansey hesitated, obviously unconvinced, and Ronan sighed.

‘Is there something weird about three people from Henrietta being here?’ Ronan demanded impatiently. ‘Aside from the fact that Henrietta and everyone there sucks?’

Henry smiled at him, entirely facetiously. ‘No.’

‘Great.’ Ronan motioned to Gansey and circled the non-robot. ‘Fork off.’

He nodded obligingly and vanished.

Gansey said; ‘Ronan-’ and Ronan glanced over, expecting admonishment. ‘Thanks for staying.’ He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘You’re still the least strange thing I’ve seen since I got here.’

‘No problem.’ Ronan curled a lip. ‘I figure we’re stuck here anyway. Might as well stick together.’

‘So.’ Gansey replaced his glasses, and smiled, slow and charming. ‘Want to go to a party tonight?’


	4. The longest Long Island Iced Tea

Gansey mandated the appropriate attire for the evening. He protested that it could be dangerous to rock the boat so early in their “investigations”. Ronan argued that everyone here would have to accept boat-rocking… because they were supposedly so fucking good.

‘What if they throw us out?’

Ronan shrugged. ‘Into hell? S’mores.’

Gansey was unamused.

‘Can you even do bad shirt here?’ Ronan asked. ‘Fights? Murder? General forkery?’

‘General?’ Gansey broke a smile, even if it was a faintly frustrated one. ‘Not specific forkery?’

Ronan was firmly confident that he’d actually said “forkery”. He shrugged on the suit jacket Gansey had approved, and grimaced.

‘We can’t even swear.’ He pointed out. ‘Why’d you think they’d allow anything else that’s fun?’

Gansey frowned, deliberating intently over a set of ties. ‘Are you sure you won’t try the blue one?’

Ronan rolled his eyes furiously, and swung away from him.

‘Wait. Ronan, wait.’ Gansey pursued him, a tie held aloft in each hand. ‘Dark is good. But what about a sandy jacket?’

‘You mean forking beige?’ Ronan glared, dodging out of his reach, and silently fumed over the fact that Gansey was wearing a beige jacket and looking stupid fine in it. He’d already been dressed for an hour, and had spent every minute since trying to coax Ronan into a grey suit, blue suit, even a dark fucking purple suit.

‘Why suits?’ Ronan had complained. ‘It’s probably not even formal.’

They’d settled for charcoal over a black shirt, even though Gansey was worried it would wash him out. The tie was too much of a sacrifice, and Ronan refused to agree to it.

Gansey’s was brown and dotted. It baffled every single one of Ronan’s brain cells how he made an old man’s tie, light blue shirt, russet vest and slacks, and a jacket down to his legs look so fucking good.

He tried to avoid looking directly at Gansey. He tried to avoid contemplating the implications of showing up to a party next to him. He tried not to think about any goddamn thing at all.

Even when they finally left, Ronan knew Gansey had an extra tie tucked into his jacket pocket.

The house was further down the lane. Beyond the neighbours, who apparently occupied some kind of misshapen house-pile, and beyond more advanced houses, from an ugly Elizabethan-styled mansion to a log cabin facing onto a small private lake. Gansey studied each of them carefully for any changes or alterations while Ronan scowled and tried to drag him onwards.

‘It’s the last one.’ Gansey explained. ‘The biggest one.’

‘Of course.’

‘I haven’t been before.’ He admitted. ‘It all seemed so loud… and definitive. I don’t really understand how people just accept that they’re here.’

Ronan shrugged, grunted acknowledgement. Because they were old, probably. And because they were dull.

And because they were all sanctimonious assholes.

‘We should try to set the house on fire.’ Ronan suggested languidly.

‘Please don’t.’ Gansey shot him a tormented look. ‘I’m begging you.’

‘You said you wanted to see what’s real. I’m just gonna nudge a few boundaries. Don’t-’

They rounded the last corner in the lane and Ronan skidded to a halt.

‘There’s no way-’

‘Come on.’

‘You’re forking joking-‘

‘We’ll be late, Ronan.’

The building looked more like a small castle than a house. Ronan’s home at the Barns would have looked like a toy next to this thing. Probably even Gansey’s presidential residence would pale in comparison.

The front doors were thrown open, but a few figures lingered on the front steps. Gansey had guessed right… most of them were dressed for a goddamn ball, in suits and gowns. Ronan let him lead, up the stairs, nodding greetings, and through the large doors. He seemed calmer in the face of this interpersonal torture than he’d been all day, but Ronan itched to discard the obnoxious suit and the social niceties.

‘I didn’t realise Heaven would be so grandiose.’ He commented dryly. He’d never seen anything like it (he’d never particularly wanted to) but Gansey was impressively unmoved by the size and extravagance of their surroundings. The ceiling was draped in lights, and curtains of them hung across archways and along halls. The stairways were draped in thick white carpet, and the banisters were entirely swallowed by mounds of flowers. Circular rose bushes lined walkways, thornless and exuding sweet scent. There was a huge, functional marble fountain in the foyer, with sparkling crystals liberally sprinkled into its depths to create a glittering underwater image. Huge glass vases exploded into bouquets of feathers, white and silver and gold. Tables of every size and purpose were draped in silver fabric, and every silver surface seemed to be covered in extravagant offerings. There was a champagne glass tower, a chocolate fountain only half the size of the actual fountain, every kind of cake Ronan could have imagined. There were whole lobsters, resplendent on beds of linguine, massive shrimp, dangling from tiers of a glass tower, glowing fillets of salmon, perfectly rare rack of lamb, prosciutto, fresh sourdough, caviar, buttered cauliflowers, roasted eggplants, chicken wings, churros, waffles, macarons…

‘Ronan.’

He’d never expected it would be like this.

‘Ronan.’ Gansey was tugging at his arm urgently, apparently aware of his mental shutdown. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Ham, I’m hungry.’

This seemed perilously like a dream. There was a Gansey clutching his elbow, and he was drowning in a sea of tantalising food.

‘Is that real alcohol?’ It was a foolish question, essentially rhetorical. He’d already snagged several glasses of champagne. Maybe there was scotch here. Good scotch. Maybe the best scotch that ever existed.

He drank his glass, without pausing for breath. Real alcohol. Brilliant champagne.

‘Do you think we can get drunk?’ He asked Gansey, who’d taken a single, cautious sip. Gansey’s eyebrows climbed, clearing the top of his glasses.

‘I… don’t know.’

‘Test number one.’ Ronan declared cheerfully.

 

 

 

He got his answer fairly quickly. Three glasses of champagne took the edge off being dressed like a pimp. He accidentally caught himself drinking sparkling apple juice occasionally, and hastened to correct. Pursuing and retrieving food became his main goal for the evening. He ate countless morsels, and even waited through Gansey’s pleasant small talk with numerous other Good Place residents.

He was in the middle of hunting a plate of pan-seared scallops when he stumbled across the bar, a perfect circular haven in the middle of yet another oversized ballroom. The individual behind the counter hardly looked old enough to drink, but he made cocktails like an expert and poured Ronan a double shot of whisky without being asked.

He’d abandoned Gansey, who had been caught by an older couple who were irritatingly endeared by the style of his house, so Ronan slid onto a chair at the bar by himself.

The bartender spun around, distributing drinks to a group on Ronan’s right, and immediately placed a glass in front of him, swirling with amber liquid.

It wasn’t Henry, but Ronan had little doubt that he was some kind of similar programme. His movements were too effortless, too practiced for someone of his apparent age… but then, nobody here was _old_. Age seemed to be something of an optional characteristic.

Or maybe the good really did die young.

Except Ronan wasn’t good.

The bar cleared, gradually, as people slunk off to tables or were gracelessly shouted at by their neighbours across the room. There was a general undertone of chatter, and quiet music spilling from somewhere, but Ronan still heard the bartender softly remarking; ‘We haven’t met yet. Are you new?’

‘This morning.’ Ronan answered, cradling his glass in the palm of one hand. ‘Hoo-forking-ray.’

The bartender was polite, soft around the edges, smiling sympathetically. ‘Welcome to the neighbourhood…’

‘Ronan.’ He supplied grimly.

The bartender nodded, offered a pale hand. ‘Noah.’

‘Are you a-’ Ronan gestured emphatically. ‘-you know, a Henry?’

Noah’s forehead crinkled, but Ronan was promptly distracted by Henry appearing just behind his left shoulder.

‘Good evening, how can I help you?’

‘Forking ham it, _stop doing that!’_

‘Sorry.’ Henry replied insincerely. ‘Did you require my assistance?’

‘Onion rings.’ Ronan demanded. ‘And pork dumplings.’

A platter of each materialised on the bar in front of Ronan, and he abandoned conversation to seize them eagerly.

He shovelled a handful of each into his mouth and finished the rest of the whisky to avoid engaging with anyone else. The room was becoming more than a little hazy, and Noah deposited a heavily iced electric blue cocktail in front of him. He’d asked for it. He’d asked for something, anyway.

A hand fell onto the back of the chair beside his, then someone sat, slowly. Ronan hoped it would be Gansey, even though the trousers were wrong. Too dark, and too long. Noah examined the interloper keenly.

‘How is it?’

Ronan barely recognised the voice, but he easily identified the accent.

‘Like being punched by a tropical island.’ Ronan confessed. He glanced sideways, the boy’s name lost to oblivion, and frowned. He’d gotten out of wearing a suit, the bastard. He was only in slacks and a sweater.

Whatever-his-name-was smirked in response to Ronan’s comment, expression tinted with amusement. ‘I didn’t realise it was possible to get drunk in the Good Place.’

‘Wouldn’t be a Good Place otherwise.’ Ronan countered flatly. ‘One for him, Noah.’

‘I’m not…’ The Aglionby boy hesitated.

‘Me neither.’ Ronan answered. ‘But I don’t see the cops.’

Noah placed another drink before them, this one significantly less blue. ‘Here, Adam.’

 _Adam, right_.

‘Thanks.’ Adam stared at it doubtfully. ‘I didn’t realise you made drinks.’

‘It’s a hobby.’ Noah shrugged. He said to Ronan; ‘I run the ice-cream place too. Well, not _run_ , exactly. I just like it there. I’m not… I’m not like Henry. I’m just a resident.’

‘Oh.’

They both watched Adam take a mouthful of his drink. His face crumpled, and after a moment he wheezed; ‘Wow.’

Ronan sniggered. Noah grinned. ‘I put everything in it.’

Adam coughed. ‘You don’t say.’

‘Where’s your friend?’ Ronan asked, scanning the room for the short girl, or any sign of Gansey.

Adam frowned, attempting to sip his drink. ‘I’m not sure. Avoiding me, I think.’

‘Heh.’

Noah, at least, looked sympathetic. ‘I don’t think she’s avoiding you.’

‘Oh, she is.’ Adam rubbed his face. ‘And I’m actually grateful. I think she’s going to murder the next person to call me her “soulmate”.’

The corners of Noah’s mouth drooped. Ronan chuckled, and leaned over to nudge Adam with an elbow. ‘That’s a shirt deal, man. You want to see how many peanuts I can throw onto that guy’s hat?’

He pointed to a figure standing at a table nearby, deep in conversation with a few others, with a wide brim fedora planted firmly on his head.

Adam didn’t precisely look ecstatic about this offer, but he didn’t immediately refuse either, which was as much encouragement as Ronan required.

He’d bargained on the ambient noise level covering the sound of the peanuts hitting the hat, but he hadn’t expected the complete lack of coordination accompanying his first few attempts. Each toss was fairly random, and decreasingly subtle, but luckily for them (and Noah, who was cringing with apprehension), nobody else seemed to notice.

Finally, Ronan landed a peanut. He heard Noah murmur honest-to-god praise, and Adam nodded appreciatively. ‘Nice shot.’

The third peanut that bounced onto the brim seemed to alert the man, who looked at the ceiling with mild confusion, and they swivelled to face the other way, muffling their laughter.

‘Alright, alright.’ Ronan raised a hand to summon composure. ‘Now, how many dumplings do you think I can put in people’s pockets without them noticing?’

‘What? _Ronan_.’ Noah wilted. ‘Someone will catch you.’

‘They won’t.’ Ronan insisted, cramming dumplings into one hand. ‘They _won’t_.’ He winked at Adam and slid unsteadily out of his chair.

He got one into a suit jacket, one into an overcoat, and one into someone’s purse, but he was aiming for someone’s trouser pocket when things went awry. He jostled a chair, the chair made a noise, and half of the group he’d been approaching turned to stare at him, including the target.

There was something about his half-sneaking posture, handful of dumplings, and inability to formulate an excuse that seemed to alert them to his motives.

‘What on _Earth_ are you doing?’ One woman said accusingly.

‘Nothing- ’ He replied blankly. ’-on _Earth._ ’

Something collided with his shoulder.

‘Oh, _Ronan_.’ It was Adam, flushed and completely out of his depth. ‘Thanks for- Oh, I’m _sorry_.’ He turned wide, innocent eyes to the suspicious partygoers. ‘I dropped my plate, and Ronan was… He was helping me clean up the food.’

Expressions cleared, and most of them turned back to their conversation, allowing Adam and Ronan the opportunity to retreat.

Noah had ducked behind the bar in panic, but he hissed recriminations as they awkwardly regained their seats, choking down laughter. ‘I _told_ you. Didn’t I tell you?’

‘How many was that?’ Ronan demanded, and Adam held up three fingers ‘That’s forking _good_.’

Adam’s drink had been replaced, with magical efficiency, by something clear and stuffed full of mint leaves and lime chunks, but Ronan judged from his colour that he’d made an effort to finish the first.

‘So…’ Ronan turned on him, about as smoothly as a tranquillised elk. ‘How’d you wind up dead, then?’

Surprisingly, Adam shrugged. ‘It was an accident. At school. I think I got a head injury from something falling on me.’

‘You died at Aglionby?’ Ronan wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘That’s bullshirt.’

Adam smiled, significantly less troubled by this fact than Ronan was. He seemed almost amused by it, as though he’d expected something different, something worse.

‘I’m gonna look for Gansey.’ Ronan sighed, standing up. ‘I’ll circle back.’ He pointed at Noah. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

Noah managed to look both beleaguered and concerned. ‘Don’t get lost.’

Adam added wryly; ‘Don’t fall over.’

‘Ha ha.’ Ronan gave him the finger. ‘Ha! Not censored, pick. Trick. Pass. Oh, fork it.’

He stole one of the bottles of liqueur from behind the bar as he skirted around it, and left through a shadow-cloaked doorway.

 

 

 

The liqueur was thicker than straight alcohol, and Ronan rapidly recognised the error of his choice, but it didn’t prevent him from drinking it as he scouted through the house.

There were more people here than he’d realised, like all three hundred occupants of the neighbourhood really had shown up. He couldn’t see Gansey. He did see Henry, but the idea of using the strange entity like a personal tracker irked him.

Gansey wasn’t his to track, anyway.

Maybe, like Adam’s angry partner, Gansey was relieved to be free from him, at least for a while.

Or maybe he’d been pinned somewhere by tedious neighbours, and Ronan had been skiving off instead of intervening. 

He ended up back in the foyer, staring at the fountain and starting to feel unpleasantly conscious of how real this was. Everything since he’d arrived had a painful degree of clarity to it. It wasn’t as though his dreams hadn’t always been strange, horrible, haunted… but this was different. It didn’t feel dreamlike, even if it felt wrong.

He could conceive of only one activity likely to entertain him enough to serve as a distraction, and commenced sneaking whole lobsters, crabs, and shrimp from nearby tables into the basins of the fountain, whispering; ‘Go. Go! Be free!’ and severely alarming everyone who was walking past.

‘Ronan?’ There. That voice was familiar. ‘Ronan.’ And relieved.

Gansey stopped in front of him. ‘I got caught up.’ He admitted. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Everything I could find.’ Ronan answered.

‘Are you okay to leave?’ Gansey was jittery, with fatigue or excitement, it was difficult to tell. ‘Or would you rather stay?’

‘Leave.’ Ronan said firmly. Noah would have to survive without his scintillating conversation.

Gansey hesitated, peering at the bottle next to Ronan’s hip. ‘Is that- Should I-’

‘Mmh.’ Ronan twisted the top off, carefully navigated into the next room, and emptied the rest of the bottle into the chocolate fountain.

Gansey was staring at him when he returned.

‘Fun fact.’ Ronan said, informatively. ‘Can definitely achieve some general forkery.’


	5. I don't think he's her lobster...

There were hangovers in the Good Place. Ronan discovered this the morning after the party, when the first spikes of a headache woke him up from an otherwise peaceful slumber.

It was extremely mild, and subsided rapidly, but that didn’t prevent him from complaining to Gansey over breakfast.

The awkwardness of the brocade bedcover also made it onto his shit-list, along with the disgusting manner in which liqueur lingered on the tastebuds and the frustration of still. being. dead.

Gansey looked tired, but somewhat relieved to find that Ronan was just as stuck as him.

‘Hangovers. In _Heaven_.’

Gansey smiled into his scrambled eggs. ‘All types of pain are replicated, apparently.’

‘The fork for?’

‘You might be able to get Henry to help.’ Gansey suggested.

Ronan glanced around the room, expecting the assistant to appear, and scowled. ‘How come he doesn’t jump scare you every time you say his name?’

‘Asked him not to.’ Gansey answered. ‘ _Politely_.’

Ronan rolled his eyes.

‘What’s the plan, anyway? Now that we’ve established I’m not banished to Hell.’

‘I’m not sure.’ Gansey tapped his bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I’m wondering if there is any way we can access the actual arrival protocol.’

Ronan’s expression, apparently, conveyed his doubt about this possibility.

‘You know,’ Gansey said vaguely. ‘So we can identify if there was some kind of mix-up.’ He hesitated. ‘Not that I think you shouldn’t be here…’

‘I shouldn’t.’ Ronan waved off his concern. ‘I really forking shouldn’t. But d’you really think there’s gonna be a forking induction manual lying around?’

Gansey looked chastened, for a moment, but he recovered quickly. ‘There has to be something. I mean, even if they’re… angels… they can’t be doing this by hand.’

‘You’re taking about literal divinities. They’d use God-magic or whatever.’

‘God-magic.’ Gansey mused. ‘But how would everything get so screwed up?’

‘Maybe it’s not.’ Ronan offered sarcastically, feeling some remaining stabs to his brain matter. ‘Maybe we’re saints and we forking deserve this.’

That time Gansey looked slightly less wounded and slightly more annoyed, and Ronan sighed and stood up. ‘I’m gonna check out the rest of this place. Maybe try to drown myself in the lake. I’ll come back when my head’s not forking me over.’

If Gansey had concerns, he didn’t voice them. He let Ronan sluggishly head for the outdoors, and stayed curved over the table, deep in thought.

 

 

 

The perfect sun was shining. Ronan’s head gave an occasional twinge, but otherwise left him unbothered.

Maybe the fresh air helped. Maybe stumbling away from Gansey’s perfectly formed presence helped more.

He ventured into the park, and up the little lane with the crayon-painted terrace houses and the pavers and the little ice-cream shop (Noah? Goddamn, how long did you have to be dead to volunteer to operate a God-magicked ice-cream shop for the rest of your eternal existence?).

He contemplated going in, but the building was relatively busy with other Good Place residents, and he felt sincere distaste at the prospect of interacting with them.

The lane ended at Gabriel’s building… office… dead check-in… so Ronan turned around and went back.

The park seemed to be the core of the neighbourhood, with little segments branching off in various directions. Some residents lived in chocolate box cottages down one narrow path out, some in glass and steel mansions in a modern section that made Gansey’s house look sedate. There was a zen garden, that Ronan found by accident, which led to a smaller lake circled by sparse, traditional bungalows and shaded by dense rainforest trees.

At one point he wandered through an archway into a small fenced water-garden, and stumbled out the other side into an unexpected mediterranean scene.

He seemed unable to make a wrong turn, when he set his mind to a particular destination, and he experimented with the shifting, changing pathways with fluctuating frustration and respect. It took little time to find his way back to his own section of the park, eventually collapsing on some inviting grass shaded by a nearby gazebo.

He drifted off, or lost track of time, because when he stirred next he wasn’t alone.

The short, erratically dressed girl from earlier was leaning on the pillar of the gazebo. Adam’s… person. Ronan couldn’t remember her name, either.

She wasn’t staring at him so much as she was staring over him, but she was definitely _laughing_ at him.

Death apparently made some people feel invincible.

Or she’d made the foolish assumption that everyone in the Good Place was supposed to be there.

‘What’s this?’ Ronan drawled, pushing up on his elbows. ‘A man can’t enjoy his own death in peace?’

‘A man might.’ She answered swiftly. ‘But I doubt an Aglionby boy can.’

He conceded the burn with a nod.

Technically he wasn’t Aglionby, at least not by the time he’d died. Maybe that kind of shit stuck with you forever, though, especially if it took you so long to recognise it about yourself.

‘And a Henrietta…’ Ronan paused, examined her again. Her hair stuck out at angles, and he couldn’t fathom her clothing. ‘…female?’

She rolled her eyes, the smile abruptly vanishing. ‘Oh yeah. Death’s great. One gigantic, endless, affirming experience.’

He smirked.

Now he vaguely recalled the conversation from the previous evening. Adam being rejected, by this odd girl, and ditched. Hell, Ronan would’ve done the same, if he’d been lumped with an Aglionby boy.

‘How are you?’ She asked, stiltedly, fully aware neither of them cared for the answer.

‘Dead. You?’

‘About the same.’ She sighed.

He soaked in her evident displeasure, and asked mockingly; ‘Trouble in paradise?’

Another eye-roll, and she slid defeatedly down the pillar onto the ground. ‘Ha. Paradise is a pitch. Pitch. _Pitch_.’

Ronan sat up further, showing his teeth. ‘Don’t tell me you ended up with a hangover too.’

‘No.’ She admitted, and then stopped to stare at him. ‘Wait, seriously?’

He made a rude gesture towards the sky to indicate his sincerity.

‘That sucks.’ She scowled. ‘What a rip.’

‘Problems with the _soulmate_?’ Ronan asked, mimicking a southern drawl… badly.

‘Gah. Adam is… not awful.’

‘For Aglionby?’

She didn’t bother to look apologetic. ‘Well, come on.’

‘Yeah.’

‘But he’s so… I don’t know. Intense. And he acts like he’s okay with being, you know, _dead_ , and he’s obviously _not_.’

‘Intense?’ Ronan raised an idle eyebrow. ‘Seems like a pushover.’

‘Oh, he’s _polite_.’ She said scornfully.

Ronan snorted. ‘ _Polite!_ What a forkstick!’

‘Yeah, yeah. He’s not going to admit he feels shirt about it, that’s all, even though it’s clearly driving him crazy. I don’t see why we had to get shoved together anyway. He wants to be on his own, I want to be on my own. Why go through all this soulmate bullshirt when neither of us wants to?’

The sheer strength of her vitriol amused Ronan greatly, but after a moment he re-examined her. She was younger than him, definitely, and probably younger than this Adam kid. How shitty would it be to get stuck with some asshole teenage male for eternity when you were only around sixteen?

He considered offering to deal with the Adam guy, but honestly, she seemed perfectly capable of dispatching him herself.

Well, not killing him… but pain was possible, so she could teach him a lesson either way.

‘It’s not Adam.’ She added finally, irritation easing into remorse. ‘Or, it’s not all Adam. It’s just, the way things are here.’ She shuddered emphatically.

‘What things?’

She shot him a fairly curious look, and took a moment to consider her next comment. ‘Well, the way things change, for one.’

His blank expression prompted more information, and she reluctantly obliged.

‘The houses. You know? And the… well, the houses.’

He stared.

‘Okay.’ She raised both hands defensively. ‘It’s not important.’

‘Cough it up.’ He demanded. ‘This bullshirt’s new to me, remember? I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the forking road one morning.’

She smiled, but not warmly. ‘That’s not what I meant. Unless your _friend_ pushes you through a window.’

Her tone implied that she remembered Gansey well. And not with affection.

‘So, what?’

She didn’t seem certain of how to broach the topic, and Ronan winced when she finally settled on an angle. ‘How do you like him? The- your “soulmate” guy? Is he as much fun as he looks?’

Ronan only shrugged, as noncommittally as possible. Gansey was… helpful. At the moment. There really wasn’t any need to think about anything else, including his personality. Or his face. Or _anything_ _else_.

‘Right. So you have, say, your own room? Right? And your own things?’

‘Good ham, what _happened_ to you?’

The failed irreverence briefly confused her, but she soldiered on. ‘I accepted that I might have to share a house with someone, alright? It’s supposed to be a Good Place, so he can’t be dangerous, okay. But when I try to got to my bedroom, and there’s suddenly only one? And only one bed? No thanks, I’m _done_. When I ask Henry to fix it, and I wake up in my own room, by myself, why are _his_ clothes in _my_ dresser? And, for the love of _good_ -’

Ronan leaned forward, annoyingly intrigued by her story and her wrath.

‘- _why_ , when I try to follow the normal route from the kitchen to _my_ own room, do I end up in _his_ room, while he’s _changing_?’

Ronan’s eyebrows tried to climb off his face.

It wasn’t, by any stretch, the most outrageous story he’d heard, but her considerable exasperation and utter disapproval made her re-telling particularly enjoyable.

He ignored the underhanded opportunity to ask something crude, and settled for chuckling unsympathetically instead.

She didn’t seem surprised, or even irritated, except by her own story.

‘Why don’t you move out?’ Ronan asked eventually, when the initial humour had faded and she’d settled into a steady simmer of rage.

‘I want to. Gabriel said I can. But it’s not advised, because we’ll end up not matching up, or something stupid.’

‘Because you’re clearly inseparable.’ He interjected mockingly.

She groaned. ‘I don’t get it. Do you have any weird stuff happen in your house?’

‘Just Gansey.’ Ronan shrugged. ‘And he makes model villages, so yeah.’

He considered her story for a while longer. ‘The houses change to reflect the occupants, though, right?’

‘Supposedly.’

‘So were you thinking about him?’

He didn’t care, particularly, but this would be an excellent thing to know if Gansey’s house decided to throw him an unpleasant curve-ball.

She thought about it, and answered firmly. ‘No. I was thinking about my mother.’

 _Ouch_.

‘Maybe he was thinking about you.’ Ronan suggested.

She thought about this for longer. ‘No…’ She cringed. ‘He seemed very, very surprised.’

Ronan sniggered. It didn’t discount the possibility, but he decided not to attack her with that remark.

‘Does he want you to move out?’

‘He says he doesn’t mind either way.’ She replied, some of her original frustration returning. ‘He’s offered to leave instead, but he was here first.’

 _First?_ Ronan thought absently. _How long has he been dead?_

If he died after Ronan, why had he arrived earlier? If he died before, how hadn’t Ronan heard about it?

‘It’s not as though it matters.’ The girl slumped sideways onto the grass. ‘It’s just _eternity_ , or whatever.’

‘What’s a little-’ Ronan was just beginning to smirk when something broke the surface of the lake with a massive burst of noise and an immense eruption of water.

The girl sat up, suddenly. Ronan lurched to his feet.

It was a lobster.

A fucking Godzilla-sized lobster.

She was still on the ground, frozen, with her mouth half hanging open as the front of the huge lobster slammed onto the small shore of the lake close to them. Ronan snatched for her shoulder, automatically, uncontrollably.

‘What the-’

‘ _Fork_.’

‘What is-’

‘Forking _shirt_.’

She noticed his hand, and grabbed his wrist, and he hauled her upright before either of them had actually started functioning.

There was a second massive noise, and another colossal lobster began to emerge from the lake.

God-magic, in Ronan’s limited mind, was still not enough to explain how such a moderately sized lake had been able to contain one of those monsters, let alone two.

Three… as the towering antennae of a third appeared on the lobster-filled horizon.

‘Run.’ Ronan said blankly.

‘Run.’ She repeated. ‘ _RUN_.’

They sprinted, Ronan in the lead and mostly dragging his short-legged companion. The monstrous sound of lobster motion in their direction was punctuated by the whoooosh of giant claws swinging through the air, and the occasional splintering sound of a gazebo being crushed and/or smashed.

‘WHAT-’ The girl yelled. ‘-THE FORK-’ _Well, fair_. ‘-IS HAPPENING?’


	6. *Ghostly noise* (to atone for lack of halloween content)

There was a small part of Ronan’s brain that suggested leading the thing away from Gansey’s house.

It was a gigantic lobster, after all.

But he was pulling the short girl, and there wasn’t much time to think, and the blasted thing was already travelling with impressive determination in their direction… so he didn’t stop.

They sprinted across the lane, over the lawn, onto the verandah. Ronan didn’t bother to knock, just threw the front door open and flung the girl across the threshold.

‘GANSEY!’

‘The ground underneath them was shaking, rolling with the weight of the lobster crashing towards them, and the other two further in the distance. It wasn’t surprising that Gansey was already tripping down the stairs, eyes wide with panic.

‘Ronan? What the hell is-’ Gansey’s eyes followed the girl as she darted past him, through the archway into the kitchen.

‘Lobster.’ Ronan managed, lunging forward to catch Gansey’s arm. ‘Big forking lobster.’

‘How-’ Gansey gasped; ‘What-’

‘Run.’ Ronan dragged him forward. ‘ _Now!’_

The girl had crashed out of the back door, and was doing a remarkable job of scaling the fence at the back corner of the yard.

The next house was hers, Ronan realised sharply. She’d left that lanky Aglionby boy somewhere.

Were they obliged, as “soulmates”, to try and warn one another? More importantly, about what? Pain was possible, but death couldn’t be… right?

Although this sudden twist in events did return nightmares to a probable explanation for Ronan’s circumstances.

The girl dropped from the fence, disappearing from view. Ronan slung himself after her, and turned to help Gansey. His assistance wasn’t required. Despite looking like he’d never stepped out of a board meeting in his life, Gansey was apparently fully capable of hurdling the fence in one jump.

He landed on his feet, and stared past Ronan, around the side of the neighbour’s house.

There were flashes of black to be glimpsed beyond the lopsided structure, and the trees in the backyard were shuddering.

The short girl hadn’t made it into the house. Adam was standing in the middle of a dubious-looking garden patch, a small spade dangling loosely from one hand. Ronan tried, briefly, to understand _what_ he was doing. The few plants he had were flawless, both vegetables and flowers, in neat, precise lines, but he wasn’t anywhere near them. Instead, he seemed to have turned over dirt and lawn in some fresh, haphazard pattern, most of which was adhering to his jeans and his shirt.

He was, like Gansey, mesmerised by the flicker of iridescent crustacean barely visible from where he stood, but he’d instinctively started to back up.

‘Where do we _go_?’ Gansey asked urgently. ‘What’s _happening_?’

‘Gabriel’s residence.’ Henry appeared next to him. Ronan was finally too distracted to flinch. ‘Please proceed to the town meeting in an orderly fashion.’

‘Town meeting?’ The girl snapped. ‘Does Gabriel see what’s happening out there?’ She waved an arm furiously.

Adam muttered quizzically; ‘Lobsters?’

All of them shifted a step back at the sound of the low wall encircling the park being crushed to toothpicks.

Ronan hissed; ‘ _Fork_.’

They scrambled for the back fence. Adam boosted the girl with a quick; ‘Blue, here.’ Gansey adamantly gestured for Ronan to go ahead of him.

The house behind had decorated their back yard in Florida fashion - green lawn, pink flamingos, fronds. The building itself was single storey, but spread out, with sliding doors opening to the yard.

Blue had already reached them, flinging the door open hard enough for it to bounce back at her, and she skidded inside across the marble floor.

Something pinged off the roof, as Ronan got closer, and other objects began to land, in the grass and in the long pool and across the small sections of path in the garden. Hail? The sky was clear blue, but Ronan didn’t risk looking upward for too long.

Gansey nearly slipped over on the floor inside, and Ronan felt like a spider in roller skates on the polished surface.

There wasn’t time to absorb their surroundings - not that Ronan wanted to - and they were back outside in front of the house.

The hail was coming down harder, bouncing off the roof and out of the gutters, collecting in drifts in the grass.

Adam stopped, and Ronan nearly collided with him. He’d raised a hand, the marauding lobster briefly forgotten, and was watching the pellets of hail hit his palm and spring away.

‘What?’ Ronan snatched for his elbow. ‘Aglionby?’

‘Peanuts.’ Adam answered, frowning at his hand. ‘It’s raining peanuts.’

Ronan stared, and Adam met his gaze with a curious expression.

Gansey ran into Ronan’s shoulder. ‘Is that… what _is_ that?’

Blue shouted impatiently from the gate, and Adam tripped into motion.

‘We’ll have to circle around to the big house.’ Blue commanded, leaning over the gate to glance down the lane. ‘I don’t think it’s far enough away from the park.’

‘Surely Gabriel can fortify anything.’ Gansey protested. ‘Surely Gabriel can… I don’t know, make lobsters _disappear_.’ He looked at Ronan for reassurance.

Adam was silent, wincing slightly at the falling legumes.

The sound of glass shattering reached them from the houses they’d left. The lobster wasn’t fast, but its movement was producing an incessant earthquake gradually destroying the structures in its path.

‘We have to _go_.’ Blue repeated.

It was difficult to stop staring, at the shadow of impending lobster shell across the rooftops, or at the peanuts starting to nestle in Gansey’s hair, or at Blue’s semi-outraged exasperation, or Adam’s baffled resignation, but Ronan drew a breath and forced it.

‘Right.’ He gave her a nod, as coldly as he could manage. ‘We’ll follow.’

 

 

 

Somehow, she knew where she was going. Ronan wondered how long it had been since she’d died. Adam, too, had been around for longer than Gansey… so maybe Blue had been here for an age.

They reached Gabriel’s, evading all three lobsters. Each immense crustacean had clearly (or instinctively?) settled on its own course, and travelled in a fairly straight line from the lake, so none of them approached the big house.

Other buildings crumbled. Gansey’s house, Blue and Adam’s, the Florida house they’d slid through. A large colonial stone building that Adam sighed over and Blue explained was the library. The row of bungalows around the quiet lake. Somebody’s treehouse. Someone else’s gothic tower.

Noah was at the big house, curled up on a sofa and looking miserable. Ronan would have overlooked him if Blue hadn’t immediately spoken.

‘The ice-cream shop?’

‘It’s fine.’ He raised large, tragic eyes. ‘But half the neighbourhood is in ruins.’

As Henry had instructed, nearly everyone had shown up for this “town meeting” including Gabriel, in a blue suit and a perturbed expression that almost matched Gansey’s.

They gathered at the foot of the stairway. The flowers and other decorations had been cleared away, but the house was still lavish, draped in fine rugs and silverware.

‘This is… an inconceivable aberration.’ Gabriel announced, staring down at them anxiously. ‘Nothing like this has ever been seen before in a Good Place neighbourhood. But don’t worry! We have the situation in hand. Henry and I are working tirelessly to find the error that has caused this malfunction.’

A woman with dark hair piped up hopefully. ‘Can’t you just remove the lobsters? And the…’ She plucked a nut from her companion’s hair; ‘… peanuts?’

‘We can indeed.’ Gabriel answered awkwardly. ‘However, we have ascertained that some kind of critical problem with the neighbourhood will merely cause them to reappear, or possibly some other… potentially worse manifestations.’

A murmur of concern passed through the assembled crowd. Wariness plucked at Ronan’s insides. He resisted the urge to slink away. Gansey was focused entirely on Gabriel, anyway… Nobody seemed to notice his unease.

‘What kind of error do you mean?’ Adam asked. Though quiet, his voice seemed to calm the crowd, and they fell back into an attentive silence.

‘A…’ Gabriel frowned, and visibly pieced together his phrasing. ‘An error in equilibrium, Mr. Parrish.’

‘Equilibrium of what? A program? Nature?’

‘Of the system.’ Gabriel explained, mildly taken aback, as though this was straightforward logic. ‘Of the Good Place. Something in the neighbourhood is out of balance.’

He looked furtively embarrassed. ‘This is very rare, admittedly, but not unheard of. And this is a completely new neighbourhood, you understand. Wherever there is some flaw in the design, we will find it, and we will fix it. Until then, I would like to advise everyone to remain here. Consider it an… extension of last night’s festivities. Enjoy yourselves. Refreshments will be available, as well as-’ He paused, and for a moment there was nothing but the impressively violent sound of thousands of peanuts belting into the roof, the walls, and the windows all around them. ‘- snacks.’

Adam’s question made Ronan feel worse than the hangover. He pulled Gansey out of earshot, into a Victorian “reading room” with an unnecessary blazing fire and leather armchairs.

‘It’s me.’ He said flatly.

‘What?’ Gansey looked around the room wildly, like Ronan had confessed to murder and Gansey was expecting to see the bodies.

‘I forked up the equilibrium.’ Ronan muttered. ‘Obviously.’

‘What?’ Gansey cringed. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘Lobsters? And peanuts.’ Ronan groaned. ‘Next thing we’ll all be shirting dumplings.’

Gansey’s initial and thorough confusion was rapidly replaced with indignant horror. ‘What did you _do_?’

Ronan shrugged, defensive. ‘No mortal forking sins, or anything.’

Not that he wouldn’t have, given half a chance.

‘Ronan.’ Gansey sank into an armchair. ‘What if they find out?’

The extent of his alarm was unexpected, and almost incapacitating. Ronan scowled.

‘They drag me to hell.’ He suggested. ‘And everything here goes back to normal.’

Gansey glared at him. ‘But nothing happened when you got here. It’s not like your _presence_ caused problems.’

‘No.’ Ronan replied sarcastically. ‘Just my actions, sense of humour and _personality_.’

‘ _Ronan_.’ Gansey repeated. ‘I’m not supposed to be here either.’

‘As much as you say that, you haven’t done any shirt since you arrived. Maybe you’re wrong.’

There was a pause, but Gansey seemed more wounded than anything else. ‘And what makes you think you’re the epitome of evil?’

‘Not the epitome.’ Ronan had seen more than enough to know that. He might have been selfish, callous, thoughtless… even corrupt, contaminated… but not evil. Not of his own choosing.

‘The point-’ Gansey reiterated firmly; ‘-is that this happened because of your behaviour, not _you_.’

‘My behaviour was harmless.’ Ronan said dismissively. Christ, if he had to spend eternity here, he didn’t want peanut-throwing to be beyond the realms of morality.

‘But if you just… I don’t know… counteracted it somehow?’

Ronan rubbed his eyes. ‘ _How?’_

‘Be… good.’ Gansey suggested. ‘Be… very good? Maybe it will fix the equilibrium.’

Ronan rolled his eyes so hard he felt like he’d strained something. ‘You don’t think that’ll seem suspicious?’

‘No.’

‘Ugh.’

 

 

 

Being good was predictably difficult. They remained on lockdown in the big house, anyway, so there wasn’t a lot Ronan could actually do. He focused on just avoiding any particularly offensive behaviour. 

The short girl, Blue, was eating PB&J sandwiches in the upstairs bathroom. Then the hall. Then on the staircase. Whenever people approached her she moved away from them. Ronan and Gansey found her in the kitchen pantry, gnawing on the crusts and poking through jars of pickled vegetables.

‘Is it over yet?’ She asked grimly.

‘No such luck.’ Ronan answered, catching a jar of pickled walnuts that she lobbed at him.

‘I guess we’re homeless now.’ She added. ‘Does Good Place insurance cover lobster trampling?’

‘Maybe you’ll get a functional house this time.’

She smirked. Gansey looked bemused.

‘Everyone’s so gently shocked.’ She said scornfully. ‘Like this infestation of behemoth lobsters and hail of peanuts is a quaint experience.’

She glanced at Gansey. ‘Sorry about your house.’

She didn’t sound overly sincere, but Ronan couldn’t blame her.

‘And I’m sorry about yours.’ He sighed. ‘And your garden.’

Ronan assumed he meant the attractive part, rather than Aglionby’s piss-poor attempt at “gardening”.

She looked vaguely guilty. ‘Oh, yeah, Henry gave me the plants. And it’s not difficult to keep them alive… here.’

Ronan snorted. _Ironic_.

‘Adam doesn’t really like it.’ She continued. ‘He finds it too easy, or something.’

‘So he mauled the yard?’ Ronan commented. ‘Savage.’

She winced. ‘I should find him.’ She didn’t move.

Ronan handed the walnuts to Gansey. ‘I’ll look.’

That counted as good, right? She sure as hell didn’t want to do it.

 

 

 

Adam had found a wide upstairs window, and was calmly observing the slow but steady demolition of the neighbourhood. The peanut rain had eased, considerably, but drifts of peanuts could be seen collected along the sides of the lanes, around light posts and tree trunks. In the distance, lobster shells glinted slightly in the sunset light.

He seemed understandably impressed by the whole situation.

‘The whole place will be gone by dawn.’ He noted, as Ronan joined him. ‘If they don’t get rid of them.’

‘Lobster buffet.’ Ronan shrugged. ‘They’re not gonna need to rebuild, though.’

Adam didn’t answer.

‘Shame about your house.’ Ronan remarked mockingly, and immediately cursed himself. He had to be _nice_ , for fuck’s sake.

‘Yes.’

‘Shame about your garden.’

Adam made a noise, like a slightly wheezy whimper, and Ronan suppressed his laughter.

The silence ticked over for a few beats. Ronan wondered, again, at how blatantly un-Aglionby this boy was. He couldn’t belong there. It was _impossible_.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

It was softer, less certain. Ronan tried to guess what he would say, before he said it. Something about Ronan’s death, maybe. Something about Blue? Something about him and Gansey was even more likely.

‘Your scars.’ Adam said.

Ronan hesitated. He knew what Adam meant. He knew Adam had seen them, noticed them, the first time they’d met. He knew the conclusions he would have drawn, the assumptions everyone made.

And the extra implications, now he was here, now he was dead.

Adam hadn’t asked him how he’d died. Yet.

‘What about them?’ Ronan replied flatly.

‘You have them.’

It was such an odd statement, but so blindingly pointless, that Ronan just sneered for a few seconds.

Adam turned his hand over, glanced at it in the fading light from the window. It didn’t signify much. His arm was covered to the wrist.

‘That’s not a question.’

‘Did you choose to keep them?’ Adam asked, a little rapidly. ‘Were you given a choice?’

‘No.’ Ronan answered sharply, crossing his arms. ‘I showed up like I died.’

Adam paused before he responded. ‘So did I.’ He stared at his hand. ‘But without any scars.’

_That… was weird._

‘Did you choose?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I just arrived. And afterwards, I noticed.’ He touched his face, the faint line of his eyebrow.

There was a scar, probably several iterations of scar in the same place on Ronan’s head, if he remembered right.

He had the strong and disturbing urge to demand Aglionby show him proof of this strangeness, but he didn’t.

Ronan was, essentially, the wrong jigsaw puzzle piece. Maybe his scars were more evidence he didn’t belong here. Maybe all rightful Good Place residents had their imperfections removed. Maybe that was why Gansey was so weirdly flawless.

And the Aglionby boy too, although he looked… unsettling. Not so much flawless. There was something unfamiliar about his features, something strange about his manner.

Or it could have been the unusual light, and the freakish events of the day, the abnormality Adam had just admitted, or the fact that he was literally dead.

‘Why don’t you ask Gabriel?’

Adam didn’t move, didn’t answer.

‘Henry!’

When the programme materialised, Ronan was pleased to see Adam jump.

He didn’t say anything, though. He didn’t react to Henry’s presence.

‘How can I help you?’ Henry asked Ronan expectantly.

Silence. Adam didn’t speak. He stared at his own hand.

Ronan sighed. ‘Can I get… some music, or something, man? Like an iPod or some shirt?’


	7. Because...

Ronan sat in the darkened room and turned the iPod over in his hands.

It wasn’t a bedroom, or even a sitting room. It was some kind of unidentifiable combination of the two, like the designer had been attempting unsuccessfully to recreate the ultimate ‘average’ human living space. Ronan had chosen the floor, despite the proliferation of armchairs and sofas and chaise lounges that surrounded him.

He’d also discovered that Henry was able to provide any song he requested, and therefore had at least one redeeming quality. The headphones that Ronan had asked for were also satisfyingly bass-heavy, blocking out all external noise.

He’d told Aglionby to check in with the short girl - Blue - and considered his ‘good’ task reasonably complete. Adam hadn’t left, though. He still stood by the window, gazing out in silence.

He hadn’t asked Henry about the scars. Possibly he disliked the strange non-robot as much as Ronan did, but it seemed more likely that he was simply unwilling to hear the answer. His curiosity made sense… Ronan would have been pissed if his own scars had vanished. But why hadn’t Aglionby asked Blue? Noah? Or anyone else? Ronan was hardly the most approachable of their neighbours. Gansey, jesus, Gansey would have been a much better option.

Adam moved, and Henry rematerialised by the window. Ronan paused the music, held his breath.

‘What is this place?’ He was murmuring, steady enough to make it audible, undisguised, but soft enough to make Ronan hyper-aware of his own heartbeat. (Why did his heart beat, anyway? He was _dead_.)

‘This is the Good Place, Adam.’

‘What Good Place?’ Adam touched the windowsill, his fingers closing around the wood. Ronan pulled the headphones off. He didn’t care if it scared Aglionby into not asking his questions. He was supposed to be being decent, or some bullshit, not eavesdropping on this kid’s anxieties.

Adam didn’t indicate any alarm at his movement. His attention was fixed on Henry, leaving Ronan either forgotten or ignored.

‘The Good Place is a reward for those who live good lives.’ Henry answered. He’d lowered his voice, emulating Aglionby. It made him sound horribly human.

‘Why?’ Adam responded. His grip tightened on the sill. ‘Who designed it? Where does it come from?’

‘Gabriel designed this neighbourhood. It is a reward for those who live good lives.’

Ronan saw the Aglionby boy wince. He stood up, using the chair behind his back for leverage.

‘He means _why_ , android. What entity is rewarding humans?’

‘I am not an android.’ Henry looked at Ronan patiently. ‘And the Good Place simply functions. It has always functioned.’

‘So no God?’

Adam was staring at Ronan, his eyes visible in the dark. Staring and waiting.

This mattered. Mattered to Ronan, at least, even if it had no relevance to Adam. Because… Ronan shouldn’t be here. He would have said “religious beliefs aside”, if he hadn’t been in church nearly every Sunday in recent memory and worn a cross round his neck (unironically) in middle school and been made breathless by the presence of the statues of Mary. Maybe he had to say “religious beliefs aside” because he was in goddamn _heaven_ , with a boy assigned as his soulmate, and his father nowhere to be found.

‘God…’ Henry repeated thoughtfully. ‘God is not a factor in the Good Place.’

Something bit into Ronan’s chest, and he fell silent. This should be everything he wanted… Confirmation that he wasn’t as much a failure as he’d always believed he was. A sign that he wasn’t as damned as he’d inevitably expected to be.

Adam turned his gaze back to Henry. ‘You’re saying it’s a kind of… non-denominational afterlife?’

‘The Good Place rewards each as he deserves to be rewarded for his good deeds during life.’

This didn’t seem to alleviate Aglionby’s doubts, and it made little impact on Ronan’s. Good deeds? He had none.

‘What happens to us, when we’re put into the Good Place?’ Adam continued insistently.

The influx of questions seemed to be affecting Henry’s capacity to process them. He still seemed confused by each inquiry, with the addition now of baffled distress about the topics.

‘You are… uploaded.’ He explained slowly. ‘To the system. And deployed into the neighbourhood when it is prepared.’

‘So it’s like software?’ Adam pressed. ‘It’s some kind of technology?’

Henry stared at him, and Ronan identified a glimmer of restraint in manner that he hadn’t seen before. The robot… non-robot… was processing hard in order to deal with the pressure Adam was placing upon him.

‘No.’ He replied, after a pause. ‘That is merely an analogy, to aid your understanding. The Good Place is not easily comprehended by the human cognitive processes as they currently operate.’

Adam deflated, slightly. He was aggravated - the fingernail grooves in the windowsill were strong enough evidence of that - but he was probably also afraid.

He’d died at Aglionby, after Ronan had left. He was as young as he looked, and he’d transferred to the school later than most of the other students. Something about Adam’s presence there was dubious, to say the least, and presumably his death, perhaps even his life, required further investigation.

But that wasn’t Ronan’s field, not while he was alive, and definitely not now that he was dead.

He was within arm’s reach of both of them, although he wasn’t certain how easy it would be to take hold of Henry. Aglionby’s clutch on the windowsill had turned his knuckles white.

Probably Ronan should have sent him down to see Blue more promptly. It was her problem, not his, after all, whether this boy had secrets and insecurities as yet unresolved by his demise.

Against every better sense he had, against every rational judgement he could make, he liked Adam… his strange self-conscious sincerity and awkward, abrupt discomfort. He seemed to be having the most realistic reaction to this Good Place environment, next to Ronan himself, and there was something reassuring about that.

Adam looked aside, towards him, and raised his chin. Ronan recognised the acknowledgement, if nothing more.

‘Why was I brought here without scars?’

He needed Ronan. Ronan was evidence that he was changed while others stayed the same. Maybe he needed the borrowed backbone, too. Maybe he needed a loaned spine.

‘Your scars-’ Henry answered, his tone reverting to casual certainty. ‘-were considered detrimental to your state of mind.’

Adam made a noise, sharper and more coarse than Ronan would have expected. It was like swearing, but wordless.

‘And not mine?’ Ronan interjected curiously, sidestepping the flurry of frustration to his left. ‘Mine are okay?’

‘You are proud of your actions.’ Henry stared at him, direct and not blank. ‘You do not regret them.’

He didn’t. Jesus Christ, he _didn’t_.

Henry turned to Adam. ‘It was considered unkind to leave marks of your previous life on your skin.’

Adam flinched, faintly.

‘Alright.’ Ronan cleared his throat. ’That’s all we needed.’

Henry disappeared, leaving nothing in his wake but uncomfortable silence, and Aglionby using the windowsill to hold himself upright as he stared at the floor.

 

 

 

Adam had no intention of returning to the crowd downstairs, or his small, supposed soulmate. He curled up on one of the many seats in the room and went dead silent, aptly.

Ronan found the music, the headphones, and entered the familiar world of seclusion.

He was proud of the scars, was that it? He was proud of every fight, won or lost, every drag race, every crash, every bitter outburst he’d enacted… Did that make him good, in his own eyes? Was that why he was here?

He remembered that old myth… every man served as his own judge. That was how the unworthy survived, through the justification of their own behaviour. He’d never imagined it would apply to himself.

And Aglionby… Adam. Here, somehow, but troubled by how he’d arrived. Or troubled about what he’d done, or what had been done to him.

Ronan picked at the long, fluffy fibres of the rug with his restless fingers.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the idea of being dead, first and foremost. And now… alone. Destined to be cut off from his father, and maybe his mother and his brothers too. He didn’t like Gansey being sentenced to live with him, probably against Gansey’s wishes, as Adam was in conflict with Blue’s.

He didn’t like Gansey’s distress about the whole situation, or the fact that it actually bothered him personally, even though he’d barely known the guy for two days.

He didn’t like the Aglionby boy’s irritating intrigue. He didn’t like that Adam had died, at Aglionby, probably while Ronan had still been alive and screwing around in Henrietta, and no mention of it had ever reached him through the junkie boy racers and cashed-up assholes he’d been encountering on a nightly basis.

It all felt so anticlimactic, just being dead. The need to conclude things, to _prove_ something, was suddenly erased, but the urge and the reflexes were still there.

A sliver of light appeared on the floor across the room, slanting over the velvety back of a sofa and the dark blue rug across the floor.

Ronan straightened up, caught by surprise.

It was Gansey, peering cautiously into the dark room, and Ronan pulled off the headphones as soon as recognition dawned on him.

‘Gansey.’ He said, a single confirmation of his presence. His companion ventured further inside, still wary of the shadows, still uncertain of Ronan’s exact location.

‘Ronan.’ Gansey whispered. ‘Did you find Adam?’

‘He’s here.’ Ronan answered, even as Aglionby sat up on the sofa he’d chosen.

Gansey leaned back towards the door. ‘Blue! I found them!’

_Of course he’d brought the girl. Of course._

And fairly, Ronan knew, but it didn’t stop him feeling jittery, untethered by every additional unpredictable element added to this situation.

Gansey edged into the room, carefully navigating around the furniture, and sank onto the floor at Ronan’s side.

His shoulder was pressed to Ronan’s. Ronan could feel him drawing each breath, every deep, calming, inhale and exhale. Blue found the doorway, closed the door behind herself and disappeared into shadows.

The iPod moved… Gansey had lifted it and was holding it in the palm of his hand. He turned, and Ronan could see the flash of his teeth, the curve of his lips in the dim bubble of light.

He was perfect, somehow. The jitteriness faded fast, ebbed away under Gansey’s hypnotic influence. He was perfect and they’d tied him to Ronan, foolishly. Or maybe brilliantly, because Ronan was worried that Gansey might actually have too strong an effect on him.

Blue had found them, had nudged Adam’s legs out of the way so there was room on the sofa next to him. And he was obliging, of course. He was perfectly polite.

He was looking at Ronan, though. It was the kind of barely-seen look that was meant to be important, but was practically inexplicable. Possibly he was asking Ronan to remain silent about their conversation, possibly he was asking Ronan to bear the weight of the confession.

_No._

He was just as dangerous as Gansey.


	8. Death and social inhibitions

The situation seemed to resolve itself by morning. When Ronan woke up at dawn, the lobsters were gone. Their trail of destruction and debris remained, as well as a widespread blanket of peanuts and an unexpected preponderance of ravens.

Gansey was asleep on one sofa, looking more ruffled than ever, and Blue was sleeping on an armchair, curled up into a ball.

Adam was by the window, again. Watching.

Replication of hunger in the Good Place was faultless. Ronan had to go downstairs in search of food, weaving around other residents who slept scattered throughout the house. What remained of the previous night’s offerings mainly consisted of cheese and crackers, piles of fruit, and assorted chocolates and treats. He ate, and wandered through the building. Sleep had helped clear his mind, but that didn’t mean he’d made any progress in figuring out what was happening.

There was a kind of odd, internal consistency to this place, which made it seem unlike a dream.

More importantly, it wasn’t just Ronan and nameless, faceless voices. There was Gansey. Adam and Blue. Even Noah, with the cocktails and the ice-cream. Even _Henry_ , who Ronan couldn’t have dreamed up in a million years.

And there was no dream-girl, the orphan child who’d haunted his dreams since he was a kid, since before his father had died.

So he was dead, after all. It… made sense.

It didn’t make sense that he was in the Good Place, though. That was the next problem.

So things were going wrong because he was here, because he was being himself, but what was he supposed to do? Going to Gabriel and telling him he’d fucked it up seemed like the only option, but it wasn’t exactly appealing, given the fact that Ronan was otherwise destined for Hell.

But hey, possibly his father would be there, and that was as close to a comforting thought Ronan could summon.

 

 

 

Gabriel made another announcement when most of the residents were awake.

‘We have removed the lobsters.’ He began brightly. ‘Henry is conducting a cleanup process which will reduce the quantity of peanuts in the environment. It will take him some time to reconstruct each of your houses, and he will need your assistance to adjust them slightly to your preferred design, but the neighbourhood should be completely intact by the end of today.’

A man Ronan didn’t recognise interjected; ‘Did you find the source of the error?’

Gabriel hesitated, just briefly. ‘No.’

‘No?’ Someone else repeated.

’It’s not over?’

‘So it could happen again?’

Ronan shifted his weight, and glanced longingly towards the door. He was still hungry. For some reason a deep-seated desire for tacos had taken root in what was left of his soul, and even Gansey’s weird colonial mansion was an inviting alternative to this crowd of f… _folks_.

‘I will continue searching for the cause, and Henry and I are dedicated to preventing further outbreaks of unusual activity, and we hope you will feel confident in returning to your day-to-day life in the neighbourhood.’

‘Henry can repair multiple houses at once, so when you feel ready and are accompanied by your soulmate, just mosey on over to the location of your house and he will prepare it to your specifications.’

Ronan ignored the look Gansey gave him, and focused instead on Blue’s unimpressed fidgeting a few feet away.

‘And of course, if anyone has any concerns, please bring them to me or Henry and we will do our utmost to make your experience as pleasant as possible.’

Blue’s expression twitched, like every muscle in her face was willing her to roll her eyes, but she forced it down. Ronan didn’t laugh, as badly as he wanted to.

The group started to disperse, breaking off into couples or parties headed in separate directions. Curiously, the only individual who seemed to be alone (discounting Adam, who was standing by himself on the far side of the room and giving Blue considerable distance) was Noah. He didn’t seem that uncomfortable about being by himself, which Ronan respected. He seemed content, watching the parade of people leaving the house.

Maybe Gansey would want to get ice-cream, today, if Noah’s ice-cream shop was still standing.

And tacos, too.

If Ronan felt hunger, was able to get drunk, to get hungover, was there any possibility he would become overweight? Get diabetes? Heart disease? No, that wouldn’t make sense, surely. Especially not if Adam’s skin had been changed. Though that had apparently been before he’d been… uploaded.

Adam’s scars had been too unpleasant to bring to the Good Place. What did _that_ mean?

Ronan’s scars were from… possibly his own insanity. Possibly demons. And from accidents, and fights.

He wasn’t sure if Adam’s could be worse.

Gansey fell into step with him as the room emptied and Ronan headed for the door. ‘I’m not sure this had anything to do with you.’

‘It wasn’t subtle.’

‘Maybe the system is just glitchy.’ Gansey shrugged. ‘Maybe it was a coincidence it glitched about you.’

Ronan smiled, not nicely. ‘Sure. And a coincidence I’m the worst person here.’

‘Ronan.’ Gansey’s distress was, once again, startling.

‘Look around.’ Ronan gestured. ‘You see any other contenders for shirt stirring?’

He’d momentarily forgotten the swearing thing, and grumbled out a few extra distorted curses for good measure.

‘I don’t know anything about any of these people, Ronan.’ Gansey protested, lowering his voice. ‘We don’t even know each other. I’m not in a position to make assumptions.’

Ronan looked at him, his dejectedly crumpled slacks and shirt, and terribly earnest expression.

‘Right.’

It was overcast outside, but not raining. They both stared at the sky in surprise. ‘Do you think that’s… normal?’

‘Probably not.’ Ronan answered. ‘Probably a side effect of the peanuts.’

‘Maybe.’ Gansey frowned. ‘I wonder where all the birds came from.’

‘There weren’t birds before?’

‘Birds, yes. Honeyeaters and finches and things. Not… ravens.’

Ravens. Was that something to do with Ronan, too?

Or… Aglionby?

Technically, Aglionby was Ronan’s past too, not just Adam’s, but it hardly haunted him. Sometimes when he’d bothered to go to school, or visited Matthew, he’d seen ravens in his dreams, but never after he’d dropped out. Aglionby had been easy to forget.

He’d hated it, hated boarding school, hated Declan’s reputation preceding him everywhere he went, hated the uniform and the teachers and the tedium. When he’d left it had been like breathing fresh air for the first time in years.

Relatively fresh air.

He still wasn’t home.

And he’d never get home.

 

Blue and Adam were behind them, in the laneway that stretched down towards the rest of the neighbourhood. Ronan could see that Adam was telling her something, perhaps the results of his interrogation of Henry.

Ahead of them, there were piles of rubble where houses had once stood. As they approached the rubble was disappearing, absorbed into nothingness. Henry stood nearby, or… a Henry, because there was a duplicate of him at nearly every site, accompanied by one or two individuals inspecting the damage.

Incredibly, a good deal of Gansey’s house was still standing. The sheer size of the building, and his choice of marble and granite as the main structural components, had prevented its utter annihilation. The internal timbers, and all of the roof had collapsed. The piano was a sad dark pile of dust, and several paintings were unidentifiable strips of canvas.

The neighbours’ pieced-together house had not survived equally as well.

‘Fork.’

The majority of the fence line had been broken into splinters, and the two houses were a depressing sight from the lane. The others - one to the left, which was missing half of the upper storey, and one to the right, which had buckled inwards from some collision, and the two houses behind which were almost entirely destroyed - added to the general scene of devastation.

‘Good.’ Blue breathed. She shook her head, hair fluttering in an almost imperceptible breeze. ‘I mean, not good, _good_. Ugh.’

Henry - a Henry - approached from the site of Gansey’s house.

‘Are you ready for me to begin the reconstruction?’ He asked cheerfully. Ronan ignored him. Gansey seemed fundamentally incapable of such rudeness.

‘How do you… how do _we_ do it?’ He asked awkwardly, gesturing to the house.

Henry smiled benevolently, and reached for Gansey’s hand. ‘I will scan your brains and combine your preferences into a compromise.’

‘What?’ Ronan’s eyebrows shot upwards.

‘You’ll _what_?’ Blue demanded.

Gansey cleared his throat. ‘You’ll… scan our brains?’

A few feet away, Ronan could see Aglionby absorbing this information, processing the implications.

‘If that’s amenable. If you would prefer, I can just construct it to the last undamaged schematic I have.’

Ronan thought about the Barns, the sprawling, unrefined comfort of it. The feeling of home, the warmth and familiarity and his love for it.

He didn’t want a copy. If he coo;don’t have the real thing, he’d rather leave it behind.

‘Uh…’ Gansey glanced at Ronan, gauged his noncommittal silence. ‘Brain scan is fine.’

Ronan suppressed a grimace and let Henry take his hand. ‘I’m fine with what he had before.’

‘Yes.’ Henry acknowledged. ‘You are.’

It was impressive, to watch the house take shape, gradually re-forming out of the pile of debris. It was indistinguishable from the original, and Ronan was grateful for it.

‘Almost identical.’ Henry announced, releasing Ronan’s hand. ‘With the addition of an underground racetrack and garage.’

There was a breathless second of silence, in which Ronan rocked back onto his heels and everyone attempted to identify if this was a joke.

Unmoved, Henry asked Blue; ‘Would you like to proceed with yours?’

‘Yes.’ She extended her hand, albeit warily, and looked at Adam.

‘No.’ Adam responded, wedging his hands firmly into his pockets. ‘I don’t want to screw it up.’

She pulled her hand free, crossed her arms, and glared at him. ‘It’s _your_ house, Adam.’

Gansey fidgeted, discomfort forcing him to edge away. Ronan stayed to watch, viciously entertained.

‘I don’t want it.’ Adam shrugged, rigidly, shoulders close to his neck and his posture a pin-drop of uneasiness. He corrected himself; ‘I want you to have it.’

‘I’m not taking your house.’

‘It’s not my house.’ He said quickly. ‘I’ll stay down the end of the lane. I already asked Gabriel.’

Blue shifted from foot to foot, fuming. Ronan disguised his amusement. She was a threatening little creature, and Adam was either more stupid or more brave than Ronan had thought in provoking her.

‘Why don’t you stay with us?’ Gansey contributed abruptly, and Ronan wheeled around. He’d re-entered the conversation out of sheer desperation, and his goal was very evidently the immediate defusing of the Blue-shaped explosive.

Adam did not look convinced. ‘I couldn’t-’

The accent set in, Ronan realised, more heavily when he was under pressure.

‘It’s so much closer.’ Gansey interrupted, all-too-brightly. ‘In case you change your mind.’

Aglionby seemed startled by the suggestion he would ever change his mind. He repeated firmly; ‘I couldn’t intrude.’

‘You won’t be.’ Gansey countered swiftly.

Ronan suddenly identified two things.

_Adam thought he and Gansey were together._

_Gansey didn’t want him to think that._

Gansey wanted him to stay, Ronan realised. Wanted him around.

He didn’t like the stab of dismay that evoked… he curled his lip. ‘And I’m sure you don’t want too much distance from your _soulmate_.’

Blue shot Ronan the most fervently irritated look he’d ever seen (and he was _Declan Lynch’s_ younger brother) and snapped her mouth shut.

Adam just glanced sideways at him, measuring his meaning.

‘Alright.’ He conceded slowly, to Gansey. ‘I’d appreciate it.’

Ronan suspected he hadn’t spoken to Gabriel at all. He was probably just trying to lessen Blue’s distaste for him. Or possibly he was running away from the effort.

‘Excellent.’ Gansey’s relief was palpable.

Blue, reluctantly, offered her hand back to Henry.

Ronan swivelled towards Gansey’s house. If Henry was serious (and humour wasn’t a strength of his) there was a racetrack nearby, and Ronan wanted to find it.


	9. Did someone order a third wheel?

‘I think he can help us.’

There was, incredibly, an underground racetrack. And Ronan’s beautiful, perfect, flawless BMW. Not the original, obviously, not the one he’d presumably totalled in order to arrive here.

Gansey had followed him downstairs, leaving Blue and Adam to argue about pre-destiny or some bullshit.

‘Help us do what?’ Ronan was already in the car, curling his fingers around the steering wheel, but Gansey was standing next to the door so he couldn’t close it.

‘Find out what’s going on.’

‘We’re dead, Gansey.’

‘That can’t be… _it_.’

Ronan frowned at the dashboard. He hadn’t had so thorough a change of heart that he disagreed with Gansey, but being dead was starting to seem probable, all things considered. Was it possible some kind of nervous breakdown would be this…absolute?

‘Even if we’re dead.’ Gansey murmured. ‘Don’t you think there are still questions?’

Ronan didn’t answer. It had been wall-to-wall questions since he arrived, and all he particularly wanted to do was drive the BMW again.

Finally, mostly in order to shift Gansey, he admitted; ‘Aglionby likes questions.’

Gansey looked vindicated. ‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you come from the same place, from the same _time_.’

‘Do you think it’s _faaaaaate_?’

‘Ronan.’

‘Look, it’s weird. It’s definitely not the weirdest thing about this situation.’

‘No.’ Gansey sighed. ‘Are you okay with him staying here?’

Ronan loosened his grip on the wheel, threw a hand in the air.

‘Sure. There’s nothing like living with an Aglionby student.’

 

 

 

Thankfully, Gansey’s palace had pointlessly numerous spare rooms.

Ronan only encountered Adam the next morning, when he was searching Gansey’s cupboards for something to eat.

Aglionby wandered into the room from the foyer, already dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Ronan hadn’t made it to the ‘dressed’ stage yet, but he was several handfuls through a packet of Froot Loops.

Adam was holding something, eyebrows pulled together in thought.

‘Aglionby.’ Ronan acknowledged, gesturing with the cereal box. ‘Loops?’

‘Thanks.’ Adam got close enough for Ronan to identify the piece of folded paper in his hand. ‘I think this might be for you.’

Ronan snorted. From Gansey, perhaps? Ronan hadn’t seen him yet. He took the paper and unfolded it, pausing mid-crunch as he deciphered the message.

_He’s lying to you. Don’t trust him._

He looked up, at Aglionby’s still-thoughtful expression. ‘What the fork, man?’

Adam didn’t respond, didn’t react to Ronan’s glare. ‘It was on the doormat.’

‘So you grabbed it?’

Ronan didn’t know what to think - Aglionby playing some dumb prank? Or a message _about_ Aglionby? - but he felt offended regardless.

‘I thought…’ Adam hesitated, guilt flickering across his features. ‘I thought it might have been from Blue.’

Ronan glanced down, turned the paper over. It was unmarked on the outside, and there was nothing but the two sentences inside. Maybe he had mistaken it for a love note. But very little about his relationship with the girl next door would suggest they were on such good terms.

‘It could be for Gansey.’ Ronan said slowly. Could be _about_ Ronan. Could be from Adam himself, or someone else who had noticed his behaviour the other night. He wondered if Henry was capable of such an act. He had, after all, been in Ronan’s head.

But Ronan hadn’t lied to Gansey.

It could be about Aglionby, from the girl. Or maybe- Really there was an endless variety of possibilities, and Ronan had a strong sense that Aglionby was considering them with equal curiosity.

Ronan passed him the cereal box, eyes narrowed. ‘I’m gonna go show Gansey.’

 

 

 

Aglionby spent his morning interrogating Henry, so Ronan was left alone to discuss the implications of the note with Gansey.

‘Could be a joke.’

‘Or it could be a clue.’ Gansey had seized the paper with fervent excitement. ‘Who is lying? And about what?’

‘A clue…?’ Ronan rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t a murder mystery.’

‘Maybe-’ Gansey covered his mouth with sudden indignation. ‘Do you think someone might be warning Adam about us?’

‘I don’t know, Gansey.’

‘Or… Warning us about Adam?’

‘I have no forking idea.’

‘Or-’

‘Gansey.’

‘This is something, though, isn’t it?’ Gansey turned hopeful eyes on him. ‘Evidence that things aren’t all perfect here, that something’s gone wrong somewhere.’

‘We knew that already.’

‘But this is progress!’

His earnestness was impossible to disappoint.

‘It’s progress.’ Ronan allowed reluctantly.

‘Good.’ Gansey smiled. ‘Good! What are you doing today?’

He didn’t know Ronan. There was only going to be one answer.

 

 

 

He was down on the racetrack until the evening, running laps in the BMW, testing it to make sure every detail was the same, was flawless. There were other cars, too, other models Ronan had desired when he’d still been alive.

Henry’s scans had been absurdly accurate, down to the wheel rims and the brand of tires.

The BMW was easy, and Ronan _knew_ it. The others took familiarisation, repeated laps, practice. It took him several hours to realise how easy it would be to spend eternity doing this, with every newer iteration of car.

That really would be Heaven.

There were two tracks, linked together, and lit all the way along as if by daylight. One was a fairly simple loop, long and flat and circling a central area of shockingly verdant grass, while the other was longer, erratically curved, occasionally uneven, and gravel in patches.

Ronan wasn’t too far from admitting Henry was a genius.

He was in a Mustang, trying to perfect the proper threshold on the brake to take corners, when he caught a glimmer of movement out of the corner of his eye and skidded to a stop.

Someone stepped off the grass onto the racetrack, and approached the side of the car where it slanted across the road. Ronan didn’t move until he’d pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat.

‘Aglionby.’

‘Lynch.’

The door slammed shut.

‘What do you want, loser?’

‘Blue’s upstairs.’ Adam answered simply.

‘So you’re picking the masculine option of… hiding?’

‘Yep.’ There was a pause. Ronan put the car in gear. At the very least, he could drive Adam back to the garage before throwing him out. ‘Gansey’s talking to her.’

‘Ah.’ Ronan frowned. ‘That’s gotta be thrilling.’

‘I think he intends to mediate.’ Adam suggested impassively. ‘Or something.’

Gansey actively interfering in the neighbours’ (lack of a) relationship? That carried the enticing promise of disaster.

‘Couples’ therapy tends to work better when you both show up.’ Ronan’s mocking had no measurable effect. Aglionby was unmoved.

‘I’m not sure that applies, in this case.’

‘In this case.’ Ronan repeated. Adam didn’t seem as horrified by the idea of a relationship as Blue did, but then… all he ever seemed to do was run away. ‘What’s the issue, anyway?’

‘Issue?’

‘Does she hate your guts ‘cos you’re Aglionby?’ Ronan explained impatiently.

He looked mildly amused. ‘I expect so.’

‘That’s it?’

‘No.’

Ronan stared at him, still driving, until Adam finally shifted uncomfortably. ‘I think it… bothered her. Being told she was supposed to be with someone.’

‘Shocking.’

‘Like an… ownership thing. She said it’s oppressive.’

‘And you don’t care?’ Ronan raised his eyebrows. They were nearing the garage, but he was almost too curious to ditch Adam from the car. Realistically, Aglionby boys typically viewed the residents of Henrietta with contempt, but this one probably hadn’t been particularly high up the food chain. Actually, considering the occasional lilt to his accent and the dusty tan, Adam probably _was_ a resident. Which would make him… a farmer, probably. Not likely to fit in with the trust fund kids.

_Scholarship student?_

Adam didn’t answer immediately. ‘I don’t… think about it.’

Ronan scoffed, not even attempting to disguise his disbelief. ‘Are you forking serious?’

Adam settled lower in the seat.

‘You’re dead, Aglionby. What are you afraid of?’

A few seconds of silence followed, but Adam folded. ‘I mean, it’s basically my last shot, isn’t it?’

Ronan accelerated, wincing. Couldn’t be all too pleasant to be having an existential crisis after the sorry bastard was already dead.

‘It’s a closed off neighbourhood.’ Adam added, with more force. ‘The people here are the only people we know from now until… forever, apparently.’

He wasn’t wrong. The potential to be trapped in a never-ending cycle of loneliness and regret was hanging fairly low on the horizon.

‘But soulmates can be platonic.’ Ronan responded, sarcasm sharper than he’d intended.

‘Platonic?’ Adam squinted at him.

‘Sure.’ Ronan answered flatly. ‘BFFs.’

‘Oh.’ There was a pause, and Adam seemed to identify the increased speed of the Mustang. His hand closed around the edge of his seat, knuckles going pale as Ronan took the corner. ‘I didn’t know that.’

Ronan shrugged. ‘One more heavenly delight.’

‘Ha.’

‘I wanted it to be different.’ Ronan admitted, pushing the car even faster. He felt Adam turn from the window to look at him. ‘I wanted… I wanted to be with my family.’

Adam had known about him. He would know the story.

‘I’m sorry.’ _Of course he fucking knew_. ‘I can’t imagine.’

‘Can’t you?’ Ronan hit the corner, skidded badly, and Adam grabbed the dashboard with his other hand. ‘We’re both stuck here now.’

‘My family-’ Adam said stiffly. ‘-wasn’t close.’

Ronan hit the breakaway and turned onto the second track, and they sat wordlessly, wrapped in the roar of the engine, until he eased off the accelerator as they approached the first corner.

‘Do you think we can crash?’ Ronan asked, sharp-edged and loud over the engine. ‘If we can’t die?’

‘I don’t think Henry would allow that.’ Adam remarked, without loosening his grip.

‘Oh yeah?’ Ronan hit the brakes, let the car slide, and watched Adam’s expression fluctuate momentarily towards panic.

The car came to a gentle stop in the road. Ahead of them, the second track stretched out and disappeared at some distance beyond a series of dips and twists. The edges were still grass, here, with some shrubby pretend undergrowth set a few paces back from the bitumen.

‘Let’s see it, then, Aglionby.’ Ronan shoved the door open, kicked his legs out, and stood up.

A moment later Adam followed suit, his head and shoulders appearing above the roof of the Mustang.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You drive.’ Ronan ordered.

Adam laughed, a startlingly surprised sound. ‘I’m not driving.’

‘Come on.’ Ronan tapped the top of the car. ‘Don’t you like to go fast?’

‘No.’ Adam replied reprovingly. ‘And I can’t drive. I never learned.’

Ronan leaned on the car and let it sink in.

_He’d died before he’d even learned to drive? Fucking tragic._

‘Shirt, man.’ Ronan observed. ‘You never drove? That’s forked up.’

Adam smiled sheepishly, and climbed back into the car.

Ronan tapped the roof again, and a third time. On close inspection, every detail made this kid more of a tragedy. He was from Henrietta, he’d died at school, his perma-girlfriend didn’t like him, he’d probably been some miserably treated scholarship student, he didn’t miss his family, and he didn’t even _drive_???

Ronan slipped back into the driver’s seat, and pulled the door shut. He was dead, after all. He could man the fuck up, too.

‘If it’s any consolation-’ He accelerated; ‘- I never kissed anyone before I died.’

He didn’t see Adam’s reaction, but he heard the sigh.

‘Yeah?’ He wasn’t laughing, audibly. ‘That’s probably preferable.’

‘Oh, you think so?’ Ronan shot him a sideways glare.

‘Given the people I kissed, I’d say so.’

Unexpectedly, Ronan heard; ‘I’ve also never been kissed.’

He braked, hard, and both he and Adam were slammed forward and back against the leather seats.

‘ _Shirt!’_ Adam gasped. ‘Henry, what the yell?’

‘Motherforker!’ Ronan hissed.

Henry leaned forward, poking his head into the front of the car from the shadows of the backseat. ‘I’m sorry, did I startle you?’

‘How _long_ have you been there?!’ Ronan snapped.

‘Approximately 8.48 minutes.’ Henry answered cheerfully. ‘Since Adam called me.’

‘Oh ham.’ Adam had curled over himself, and his possibly cracked ribs. ‘Shirt.’

‘I’ve also never driven.’ Henry continued, unfazed. ‘And I like to go fast.’

Ronan rested his forehead against the steering wheel, and rolled his eyes so hard he expected to sprain them.

‘Henry.’ Adam, eventually, cleared his throat. ‘Can we crash?’

‘Oh, no.’ Henry smiled benignly. ‘Given Ronan’s demise in a fiery car crash I thought I should remove that possibility.’

Ronan lifted his head to stare. ‘Fiery? It was fiery?’

‘Oh, _very_.’

Adam’s expression had melted into raw shock. ‘You died in a car crash?’ Then, sudden understanding; ‘You were racing.’

Damn, Ronan really had developed a reputation.

‘I forgot.’ Adam said slowly. ‘Joseph Kavinsky and those pass moles.’

He’d already shut down. Ronan could see it, the grim recognition of the type of person he was talking to, the instant distrust.

‘Yeah.’ Ronan said, heavily. If they hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere Adam probably would have left. As it was, he seemed to be considering bailing. ‘I’m one of those pass moles. And I died because of it.’


	10. Worst Ex on the Beach episode ever...

‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Adam observed, distantly. He slipped lower in the seat again, staring out the passenger window. ‘At least you had fun.’

Ronan scoffed. ‘ _Fun_?’ 

He drove back to the looped track, back to the stairs to the rest of the Good Place, and stopped the car. Let Aglionby think what he wanted about Ronan. He’d never cared when he was alive, he didn’t care now.

Adam didn’t leave the car. He didn’t move at all.

He’d just gone quiet, curled into the seat, and Ronan felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. 

If it had been him (and it was, essentially) he wasn’t going to feel safer anywhere than behind the wheel of the duplicate BMW. Where did Aglionby have, to hide? Where else could he go?

Ronan wasn’t inclined to ever feel sorry for any Aglionby boys, but this one seemed different. There was probably still pride, there, but no arrogance. He didn’t have the confidence for it. There was intellect, without pretension. And wit, without cruelty. 

If he’d been at Aglionby before… No, Ronan would still have left.

He was sorry the kid had died, though. It didn’t seem fair.

 

 

 

Gansey had informed Blue about the strange message they had received. She denied writing it, and refused to countenance the possibility it was about Adam. Her loyalty seemed far stronger given some breathing room from him

She visited more often, too, to see him and to poke around and to glare at Gansey’s decor. Her comments were priceless. She once remarked that Gansey had the face of a politician but the fashion sense of a Scooby-Doo character, which Ronan found entirely amusing, if slightly offensive towards Scooby-Doo. She pointed at the delicately shaped panes of glass in his windows and shook her head at his elaborate light fixtures.

Gansey didn’t seem to notice, for the most part. He considered her necessary to the completion of their investigation (Ronan could barely remember the purpose of that even _was_ , anymore, given that they were almost certainly stuck here) and questioned her extensively on her real life. 

She said she didn’t know how she’d died, but she thought it was something to do with mirrors. 

She also said her whole family were psychics, which Ronan was prepared to sneer at until he unhelpfully remembered he was in the most obnoxious rendition of heaven conceivable.

Aglionby kept to himself, mostly. Gansey offered him the yard for gardening, and he tried, but every time he made any kind of horribly ineffective attempt it would miraculously succeed within a couple of seconds as Henry swooped in to rescue him from imperfection. He tried cooking, but Henry would conjure the finished dish. Once, he’d barely even considered sketching and the picture had appeared in front of him without a moment’s pause.

Ronan wasn’t sure what the problem was, but Aglionby spiralled fairly rapidly into gloominess, and spent most of his time reading in his room. 

Gansey had made small alterations to accomodate him. His bedroom was closer to the library, now, and was better designed for long hours of motionless reading than for sleep.

Ronan preferred his own underground palace. The constantly beaming faux-sun made him feel timeless and invincible, and when the sleep-deprivation became too much he slept on the grass, three feet from a hastily parked car. 

Partly because of this, he quickly lost track of how long it had been, since his death or at least his arrival in the neighbourhood. Henry could have told him, if he’d asked, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Gansey disturbed him during one of his siestas, fretting about his lack of sleep and his bad eating habits. It wasn’t the first time he’d voiced his concerns, and it wouldn’t be the last, so Ronan didn’t bother pointing out that his post-death state wasn’t likely to hinge upon “healthy” behaviours.

‘We’re going to swim.’ Gansey explained, after sighing his way through a lecture. ‘You should join us.’

‘We?’

The predictable “we”, Ronan knew, was Gansey and Blue, probably Henry as well. For the vast quantity of things they did not have in common, there was the counterbalance of strong mutual uneasiness… about the Good Place, about their soulmates, about death. And they both liked Henry, for some reason, as though he were an entity responsible for his thoughts and actions, rather than a thing that was programmed to have them.

Ronan went anyway. He didn’t have anything better to do, except drive, but he was too tired for it, and he could sleep just as well under the real not-sun as he could under the fake not-sun. 

The others were already at the pool - a kind of absurd, American suburbia installation with an obviously fake waterfall and sun-lounges under umbrellas as though the heat from the sun could actually affect them.

Blue was swimming, and Henry was standing in the shallows, stock still but comically dressed in a classic trunks and a Hawaiian shirt. Adam was there, too, asleep on one of the sun-lounges. It looked as though he’d fallen asleep reading, and the book had dropped to the ground. 

Gansey circled the pool to where Blue was swimming, and she pulled herself to the side just so she could point at his shoes indignantly and loudly express her disdain. 

Ronan sat on the end of one of the lounges, watching and listening. He hadn’t planned to swim… he hadn’t even changed. He couldn’t remember what his last pair of swim trunks had even looked like, let alone when he’d last worn them.

Blue splashed water on Gansey’s shoes. He sprang back, horrified.

‘Henry.’ Ronan whispered, and Henry noiselessly dematerialised from the water and rematerialised by the sun-lounge. ‘Shhh. Help me with this.’

Between the two of them they lifted Aglionby’s lounge, turned it 90 degrees and dumped him off over the pool. He woke up falling, flailed and plunged into the water with a splash.

Henry replaced the lounge, smiling. Ronan leaned over the pool. 

Adam resurfaced in a second, hair flattened to his face and his clothes completely soaked. He raised his hand, and Ronan grabbed it to drag him out of the pool. 

‘Lynch.’ Adam said, finding the edge with wet sneakers. ‘Always a joy.’

He found his way back to the lounge, nudging it away from his book so he didn’t drip on the paper. 

‘Aglionby.’ Ronan answered smugly. ‘Nice nap?’

Adam’s answer was the beginning of a smirk, but he noticed Gansey over Ronan’s shoulder, and whatever smart response he had was left unsaid. He asked Henry for a towel, instead, and folded it up to put behind his head. 

Gansey was talking to Blue about something else, now, the borderline of bickering. Aglionby lay down and looked at the sky, at Ronan, anywhere but at the two of them. 

It wasn’t difficult, to recognise that Gansey was more interested in Blue than in anyone else. It wasn’t surprising. Ronan wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t angry, either.

At least not right now.

But Adam was… disappointed, probably. About the way Blue responded. Still mocking, like before, but not as unenthusiastic as she’d been with him. Ronan could have told him expectations were inevitably a source of regret.

‘I don’t find this pool to my satisfaction.’ Ronan noted, settling on another of the lounges. He gestured for Henry, ever attentive, to sit next to him. ‘I think you know what to do.’

With all the subtlety of a 6,000 ton freight train, Henry winked. ‘More recreational?’ He offered, sitting next to Ronan. ‘Perhaps more tropical?’

‘Both.’ Ronan said thoughtfully. ‘Both is good.’

Aglionby was looking at both of them with deep concern.

There was a gentle _pop!_ and a yelp from across the pool. Where Gansey had stood there was more water, dark blue and uneasy with a multitude of ripples. Adam sat up.

It was a vast improvement. The American Suburbia special was gone, replaced with far more pleasant villa-style curves, dark tiled pool surfaces, and a proliferation of palm trees and fronds shading the water and the surrounding rocks. Ronan, Henry and Adam were suddenly under the inviting structure of a cabana, on wicker seats dressed in white pillows. At one end of the pool there was a small waterfall, cascading a good six feet into the water below, and at the other there was a waterslide twisting down from above. 

Gansey appeared, spluttering, and helplessly victim to Blue’s laughter.

Ronan coaxed Henry into a fist bump and Adam looked back around, failing to disguise his amusement. ‘That wasn’t very nice. What if he’d hit his head?’

‘Maybe his dress sense would have improved.’ Ronan shrugged. ‘Mojito?’

‘Ice-cream.’ Adam answered.

 

 

 

They stayed for the rest of the day, and into the evening. Ronan drank and slept while Aglionby quizzed Henry about the Good Place-

( _‘It makes sense that we have brains because we’re functioning and have physical form, but that our brains are somehow independent of the system around us seems… strange.’_

_‘You are put into the system as independent entities.’_

_‘But we’re put in… We’re integrated with the environment, isn’t that how we interact with it and each other?’_

_‘But I’m not integrated with the system.’_

_‘Then how do you operate the system?’_

_‘It’s not that simple a system.’_ )

\- and Adam read and attempted to ignore Ronan’s insistence on adding canals and canoes, underwater caves, lost treasure and multicoloured fish. 

He demanded a dartboard, too, but Aglionby refused to play.

‘It won’t work.’ He repeated, calmly climbing onto his lounge after Ronan had shoved him off. ‘I’m telling you.’

‘Then forking try it.’

Blue had stopped swimming, but she was dangling her legs into the water, playing with the fish. Gansey was pretending to grill food, while Henry stood next to him and regulated to ensure everything he made was edible.

Adam shrugged, finally, and stood up.

After the real not-sun had gone down, Henry had placed torches around the perimeter of the pool and a brazier of logs within the cabana, none of which produced smoke, and all of which emitted a pleasantly comprehensive light. 

Ronan threw three darts, and was predictably mediocre. Aglionby threw three, and landed them in a perfect vertical line from the centre upwards.

Ronan turned on him; ‘What forkery is this? Witch.’

‘I told you.’ Adam shrugged again.

‘Henry!’ Ronan was still mildly buzzed from his more recent alcohol. ‘I _demand_ you remove Aglionby’s child lock’

‘I cannot.’ Henry was suddenly a foot away, and Ronan winced. ‘But I can improve your darts skill.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Ronan retorted. ‘For fork’s sake.’

‘I can’t.’ Henry told him. ‘I will not.’

‘Why not?’ Ronan swivelled. ‘Did you tell him to make you perfect?’

He hesitated the moment he said it, but Aglionby hadn’t noticed. ‘Not my circus, Lynch.’

Henry had already vanished, returning to babysit the grill. 

‘Seriously, what the fork?’

Adam was slinking back to his lounge. He replied, tone dripping with sarcasm; ‘You’ll have to excuse my perfection. My ego isn’t strong enough to withstand failure.’

Ronan followed him. ‘That’s what’s going on?’

‘Apparently.’ He folded both of his arms over his face, and said with muffled derision. ‘My fragility is unmatched.’

‘Well ham, Aglionby.’ Ronan frowned. ‘Did they pick the wrong soulmate for you.’


	11. The Case of the Scruffy Cuffs

There was a moonlit cruise, a few days later. When Ronan pointed out that the lake was hardly big enough for a boat trip to constitute a ”cruise”, he was quickly corrected. It was a moonlit _sky_ -cruise.

For… romantic purposes.

_Cue shudders._

Ronan never intended to actually go. As much as a flying ship was appealing conceptually, the idea of spending the whole night awkwardly avoiding ‘soulmate’ type conversation with Gansey didn’t strike him as all that enjoyable.

Gansey, as it turned out, disagreed, and Ronan found himself berated into wearing the dark suit - with small reparations made to the way he’d been wearing his cuffs (apparently they were _scruffy_ ) and a style change from Gansey’s choice of shiny shoes to a pair of boots - and boarding the vessel.

It was startlingly beautiful. The colour of pearl, faintly iridescent, and hollow hulled. The deck was timber and littered with couches and tables and what looked to be a cupid-shaped ice sculpture. The railings were strung with fairy lights, and lanterns hung overhead.

Ronan nearly puked upon first sighting.

Again, everybody was dressed up like poodles on show. Again, the food was irresistible. Again, drinks were being liberally supplied, _thank fuck_.

Gansey was jumpy, unsurprisingly. Ronan still didn’t understand why he consigned himself to these activities he seemed to hate.

But the sky was clear, and there was enough room to lean on the railings and watch the ground shrink as the ship launched, and even Ronan, with a drink in hand, had to admit that the not-stars in the not-sky were mildly pleasing.

‘This is fantastic.’ Gansey said, peering down at the landscape below. ‘Isn’t this incredible?’

Ronan shrugged.

‘I’m impressed.’ Gansey continued. ‘I didn’t think it would be so-‘

And abruptly, he turned and darted away.

Ronan shifted to watch him, curiously, but he wasn’t surprised to see Gansey alighting on the railing next to Blue Sargent.

They practically lived in each other’s pockets, nowadays. It wasn’t exactly terrible. Ronan had his cars, and even Adam had his books. Gansey clearly preferred to occupy himself with the girl next door.

And as long as she didn’t mind, Ronan couldn’t care less.

He finished his drink in several quick mouthfuls, and strode off in pursuit of another.

 

Thankfully, Noah was on board. Ronan had acquired both alcohol and chocolate from him before finding a shadowed corner to sit in.

The sky was magical. The boat was turning out a fairly inoffensive line of jazz, and Ronan’s limbs were gently numbed by his fourth drink. Somewhere, Gansey was probably telling Blue about how the early explorers navigated by particular clusters of stars.

Someone stopped next to him. ‘Ronan?’

‘Yah?’

Noah, his fragile, boyish face creased into a frown. ‘Have you seen Adam?’

Ronan hadn’t. ‘He didn’t come.’

_Presumably to avoid having the Bluesey seared any more onto his eyeballs than it already was._

Noah leaned slightly over the railing, stared down as if he would be able to pick out Aglionby’s silhouette a hundred feet below. ‘He’s going to be sad.’

‘Yes.’ Ronan snorted. ‘He is.’

Whether it was the romantic rejection, or being left behind, or the existential mindfuck of being _dead_ … yes, Adam was bound to be miserable.

‘It’s not fair.’ Noah added, morbidly. ‘He doesn’t deserve it.’

‘Yeah? There’s a lot of that going around.’

How had Noah escaped the misfortune of the soulmate disaster game? At this point in the evening Ronan wasn’t sure he was capable of giving a damn.

‘Here.’ Noah handed him something, a glass of mostly ice. Ronan instinctively pressed it against his forehead, savoured the spreading coldness. ‘Night, Ronan.’

‘G’night.’

 

He wasn’t sure how much later it was when he stirred. He’d finished most of the drink, but as far as he could tell, it didn’t contain alcohol. It was probably just soda with a bit of lime. He stowed it on a nearby table, and returned to his railing.

The neighbourhood below was lit by street lamps. Even in the park, small lights marked out the pathways, and had been set on rafts to float across the lake. It was pretty, but Ronan wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, probably, but he knew exactly where he’d choose.

The Barns. But not a not-Barns. Not the current-Barns. Home, his childhood home. Home when his father and mother had both been there, and had both been… themselves.

‘Henry.’

He appeared, by Ronan’s side, mirroring his searching look over the railing.

‘Can you get me off this thing?’

‘I can do that.’ Henry produced a parachute harness, and Ronan sighed.

‘I’m not… no.’

‘Okay.’ He discarded it, produced what looked frighteningly like a hoverboard.

‘Nope.’

‘Alright.’ That vanished, and a very small boat slowly rose up alongside the railing. Ronan examined it dubiously. It looked rather like a wooden dinghy… only floating.

He sighed again, reluctantly. ‘Thanks.’

The little boat was impressively steady, and it was easier than Ronan had expected to climb over the railing into his own little sky-cruiser. He had no idea how to move it, though, as Henry hadn’t supplied him with an oar.

After a second, Henry reappeared, sitting opposite him.

‘ _Gah_.’

‘Where are you going?’ Henry inquired curiously. ‘The cruise isn’t over.’

‘I’m…’ The ship was getting steadily smaller, as Henry somehow guided their boat away. Ronan frowned at its hulking form. ‘Forget it. I need you to do something else for me.’

 

 

He searched the park, and the chocolate-box lanes and the streets with the gated mansions. The gardens, and the lakes, and the soft, manicured forest.

Adam was by the racetrack, lying in the grass. It was still daylight, underground, and he was reading some absurdly large tome illustrated with hand drawn maps and diagrams.

Ronan didn’t say anything, reaching him, just slumped onto the ground. He wished he’d thought of stopping by his room to get changed. His suit jacket was not designed for relaxing outdoors.

It was a while before Adam even acknowledged him, and Ronan didn’t mind. The grass smelled good - green like spring, slightly sunburnt like summer - and the sound of pages turning was as effective at lulling him into sleep as the alcohol seeping through his veins like syrup.

He wondered if Adam would read to him, if he asked. Maybe something like Aurora used to read when he was a kid.

‘Ronan.’ The sound of Adam closing the book, carefully. ‘How was the cruise?’

‘Tedious.’

‘And the food?’

‘Exemplary.’

‘And the alcohol?’

Ronan heard the lift in his voice. Aglionby was on the verge of teasing him.

‘Glorious.’ He rolled onto one shoulder, blinked lazily at the grass and the side of Adam’s head. ‘How was social isolation and keeping your dignity?’

Adam sighed, a noise as close to laughter as Ronan had heard since he’d moved in. ‘Beneficial.’

Silence, for a few long moments. Adam’s amusement, if it existed, faded swiftly.

‘Is there a way out, d’you think?’

Ronan turned the question over, thoughtfully. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. Are you that desperate to leave?’

Adam shifted himself onto his elbows. He was a little distance away, but still close enough to touch, if Ronan experienced the sudden need to punch him in the face. ‘It’s just… Interminable. Isn’t it? This. Forever. Doesn’t that bother you?’

_Yes. No. Absolutely._

‘Who doesn’t like time?’ Ronan contributed dryly.

‘I would…’ Adam hesitated. Ronan stared at him until he yielded. ‘… prefer freedom.’

‘To fail?’

‘To…’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘To _choose_.’

It was a mystery how Henrietta soil could have produced this one. He was traumatically serious.

Ronan wondered if he was Catholic. The intensity and the existential guilt were almost overwhelming.

But then Ronan would have known him from church.

‘I can’t do anything.’ Adam said, softly. ‘I can’t even see myself in the mirror. Back… _there_ , I knew what I was. What I had to do.’

‘You could have anything you wanted, here.’ Ronan reminded him.

‘How do you decide what you want when you can have everything?’ Adam pondered cautiously. ‘They say power corrupts.’

‘Everything corrupts, when it’s done properly.’ Ronan replied. ‘You still have a choice in what you pick.’

‘No.’ Adam shook his head. ‘I’m irrelevant. My behaviour, my _existence,_ is moderated. I can’t make mistakes and I can’t change… It’s not _living_.’

’Because we’re dead, Aglionby.’

‘I don’t want to stay like this forever.’

Ronan pushed himself up, on one arm, and offered the other. ‘Give me your hand.’

Adam looked down at his open palm, unflinching but questioning, and then gave Ronan his hand.

He didn’t place it, as Ronan had expected, but actually curled his fingers around Ronan’s, like he was curious to see what it felt like, to mime affection between the two of them.

Ronan ignored the rush of colour and warmth to his face, pointedly guided Aglionby’s hand to the grass, and pressed it against the dirt (real dirt? not-dirt?).

‘What do you want?’

He felt the air shift. The grass beneath his already crinkled suit lost its beguiling greenness, and became more sparse, and burnished at the edges. The dirt changed too, lighter and dustier. The atmosphere was thick, warm but humid, like a storm was hanging heavily in the sky.

There was a structure behind them. Ronan had to crane his neck to see it. It looked like one of the old trailer houses outside town… Ronan had only ever been in those neighbourhoods to race, and he’d never paid much attention to the buildings or the residents, but they were ugly as sin and nowhere near as much fun.

The front door to this one was closed. The windows were shuttered.

Aglionby had shifted, onto his knees, though his hand was still pressed into the dirt, still linked with Ronan’s. He was staring at the building - if it could be called that - with his eyes wide and his mouth a thin line.

The kid’s expression was raw. It was like a kick to the stomach. Ronan hadn’t felt so bruised since… since he was alive.

Aglionby wanted to be here… or he wanted it gone, Ronan couldn’t tell. He felt something, either way, that was painful to watch. Too painful… Ronan was too drunk for this. He couldn’t breathe around Aglionby’s distress. He wanted it to stop.

Ronan wasn’t prepared to approach the building - both due to immobility and faint distrust - but Aglionby wasn’t moving either, just watching the door like he expected something awful to come flying out.

It was clutching his hand, that did it. It was the noiseless emotion that was pulling at Ronan’s head, and the instinct to dig his own fingernails into the dust. The earth shifted, and the trailer tilted, and the windows seemed to darken, and everything was moving. 

Adam’s grip tightened, possibly anger, though Ronan doubted it. He was watching the moss crawling up the walls, engulfing the barely visible building, roots breaking through the ground, narrow green tendrils thickening to branches and sprouting foliage. There was a forest growing around them, that Ronan knew all too well, swallowing the trailer, blocking out the light. There was sudden, eerie silence, as though the trees were holding their breath.

Ronan waited for the voices, but nothing came. Aglionby’s hand was heavy and warm, very real, as if by design, to keep Ronan grounded. He was so alive, so human, and in the otherworldly grasp of the trees Ronan was desperate for the company.

He didn’t remember when, exactly, everything had gone so wrong. He suspected there had always been fear, fear of the forest, fear of sleep, even when he was young, but it hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t remember the details, particularly, but he had the sense that even then something had been wrong with him.

Adam was looking through the trees, maybe trying to catch a glimpse of the trailer, of whatever he’d lost, to the point where Ronan couldn’t see his face. When he said; ‘Lynch’, it sounded like the trees were talking, and for a moment Ronan felt the urge to pull away.

The world was muffled. There was a carpet of old leaves, somehow, beneath their feet, and a blanket of new leaves overhead. The trees were old, huge, covered with moss, oozing moisture. There was no sound, no birds, no animals, nothing.

‘Lynch.’ Aglionby said again, turning to look at him. He hadn’t realised his hands were trembling, and he curled his fingers into a fist by his waist.

This forest was a catastrophe. Ronan knew every inch of it, every strange and monstrous hollow, every magical, nonsensical trap. In the recesses of his mind, he remembered the best parts, from when he was a child. The beautiful places, the wonderful secrets.

He was still holding Aglionby’s hand. He was still here, still underground, still dead… But he wasn’t alone. Nothing was a threat, here, surely. Henry wouldn’t allow anything harmful, especially not to Adam.

He needed to breathe, and concentrate. He’d spent so long avoiding the forest, sleep, his nightmares, that trying to remember felt unnatural.

The light through the canopy changed, almost imperceptibly at first, until the difference was unmistakeable. It rippled, very pale light, very weak. Where it struck the ground the leaves folded, dipping into sudden crevices, the leaf litter turning to liquid, draining out of sight over dark rocks.

Adam shifted, moving closer as the ground fell away. They were almost on an island, a massive tree to one side of them, the rest of the forest floor transforming into a stream. Even the tree was a lighter colour, chalky gray. Ronan knew this place. He’d loved this place.

It sounded like rain was falling, but the drops weren’t quite water. They tap, tap, tapped on the leaves above, trailed patterns of silver blue across the green, dripped onto the rocks below. Raindrops of light. Almost like mercury, but translucent, like glass teardrops. Soon, the rocks were flooded with liquid, and their island was surrounded by a river of light, little peaks of black rock cresting the uneasy surface.

Adam’s voice was softer, almost wounded; ‘Jesus, Ronan.’

The island didn’t get wet, but Adam’s shoulder was against his anyway, pressing close, uncertain of the water.

The canopy looked like the night sky, rich dark green pierced with specks of gleaming silver. Rivulets traced the bark of the tree next to them, and Ronan wondered if he could drink the water, the light, all of it. He wasn’t sure if it was anything real, anyway, but it looked refreshing, magical, and it smelled faintly of vanilla.

The reality sank in, solidifying Ronan’s gratitude.

All of the things in Ronan’s head, they could be real here. All of the things he knew couldn’t exist in the real world (he told himself, he told himself)… All the miracles he believed he’d seen growing up, and all the fairytales, he could finally _show_ someone.

Even Adam was a ghost, next to him, tinged blue but radiating heat. He still hadn’t pulled away, or even stood. He just stayed crouching, watching the forest change… watching Ronan dream.


	12. Actually the right place*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - that's what I deserve for whisky at 2am.

He was drunk.

Drunk enough that the forest wasn’t scaring him. Drunk enough that Adam’s proximity was comforting.

Drunk enough to still be holding his hand.

‘What is this?’ Adam’s voice was hushed. He was wary of the light, but fascinated, too, and Ronan could sense him experimentally stretching his fingers towards it. ‘How are you changing it?’

Ronan shrugged, lazily, against him. ‘Asked Henry to let me.’ He looked around, vaguely, to see if the program would appear. ‘Didn’t think it would be so forking trippy.’

‘Is it… safe?’

‘Ya dead.’

Adam sighed. ‘Is it going to melt my hand?’

‘Shouldn’t do.’ Ronan lifted their joined fingers, peered at them critically. ‘No great loss.’

He reached for the water, dragging Aglionby with him, encountering only a little resistance. ‘Don’t you _know_ what it is?’

He did, theoretically. _Light_. It felt like liquid, though, in his memory.

‘Where does this come from?’ Adam was asking, nervously watching Ronan’s fingernails touch the river, fingertips, Adam’s own nails, their tangled hands. He twitched sideways, into Ronan’s space, as his hand was submerged. ‘It feels cold.’

‘My head.’ Ronan answered. It _was_ cold. It felt like iceblocks being drawn across his skin.

‘Your head is prettier than I expected.’ Adam remarked, and immediately winced.

‘Your head is grim as fork, man.’

Ronan hadn’t forgotten the trailer, the burnt ground, the gathering storm. He didn’t know what was hidden, in the trailer, whether it was loved or hated, or whether he’d made a mistake forcing Adam to see it.

‘I was born in Henrietta.’ Adam said, leaning forward. He dipped his other hand in the water, withdrew it, watched the drops of light rolling off and falling soundlessly back into the river. ‘I never left. I never saw… anything else.’

‘Fork.’ Ronan exhaled. ‘So… grim is your standard.’

There were narrow trails of residue across Aglionby’s palm, like the remnants of a broken glowstick. His hands were strange. Not quite… proportionate. Pretty.

‘You could say that.’ He answered, with a bit too much emphasis on the _you_.

He seemed to regret the barb, quickly. ‘Didn’t you grow up there?’

‘Yeah.’ _And not there_ , Ronan thought, looking up at the forest canopy.

‘It was different.’ He continued. They both knew it was different. There was no sense pretending it wouldn’t have been. Ronan was suddenly, overwhelmingly bored with pretending. ‘We should have met.’

Adam took his time to respond, shifting to get comfortable, to scoop a handful of the river and let it drip out between his fingers. ‘We’d never have spoken.’

‘Eventually.’ Ronan said firmly. ‘We would have.’

He would have made it happen, somehow. He was sure he would have been as intrigued by the living Adam as the dead one. He was sure he would have seen what was different about him. What was remarkable.

When he looked over, Adam was smiling distantly, watching the light drip.

‘What?’

‘You.’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re…’ Adam glanced across at him, eyes filled with laughter. ‘Drunk.’

Ronan splashed him with light-water. ‘Dirk.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Adam snorted, wriggling to avoid getting hit. ‘What’d you call me?’

‘ _Pick_.’ Ronan growled. ‘ _Crick_.’

He gave up trying to splash with one hand and hold Adam still with the other, and settled on rolling them both, bodily, into the river. Adam cursed nonsensically, flailing in the light-water, and continued laughing.

Ronan’s suit jacket was beginning to look like something out of a 70s disco, and Adam was pissing himself laughing and carefully adding more streaks of light wherever Ronan wasn’t already covered.

’You animal.’ Ronan emptied a handful of light onto Adam’s hair. ‘I look like someone out of forking ABBA.’

Adam wheezed. ‘Holy shirt.’

The river wasn’t deep. Ronan could feel the bottom, even though he didn’t know what it was, or even what he was standing in, exactly. It didn’t saturate clothing, like water did, but he could feel the coolness seeping down his cheeks, his neck. There were patterns like war paint across Aglionby’s cheekbones, his forehead.

His smile was wonderful. A relief. A reward.

He tried to catch Ronan’s hands, the one recently released, and the one threatening to drip liquid down the back of his shirt. He was just barely as tall as Ronan, and amazingly lean, and it was futile to try and avoid his grip while focusing on remaining upright on the uneven rocks beneath his shoes.

So Ronan yielded, and Adam pinned his arms.

‘Surrender.’

’Never.’ He couldn’t get free, but if he could pull Aglionby close enough to the bank, he could easily dream a way out.

Adam must have suspected his plans, but the river was unbalancing him, making it impossible to prevent Ronan moving. They both stumbled, slipped, toppled, and Ronan dug his fingers into the earth while Adam scrambled to stop him.

He imagined a slide, of light-water, dragging them both away. He imagined being propelled down the darkness, and crashing out the far end, over the edge of a waterfall, dropping through space until they both hit the surface of a crystalline lake. He imagined swimming to the island in the centre, thick with soft grass, the banks laden with willows drooping gold-leaved banners to the surface of the lake.

Adam followed him, as expected. He climbed to his feet and tentatively walked the little island, tracing the patterns on the dark tree trunks. ‘This is Latin.’

‘What does it say?’

‘ _A posse ad esse_.’ Adam murmured. ‘From possible to actual.’

‘Huh.’

‘From the shadow to the light.’ He added, examining another tree. ‘The soul cannot be extinguished.’

Ronan threw himself onto a particularly comfortable looking circle of grass, and watched Adam move from tree to tree, mouthing the Latin, translating it in his head. It was obscenely gratuitous, Aglionby students being forced to learn Latin, but it had always had perks. One was Ronan’s prior familiarity with the language, through his father, their books, through mass.

Adam must have learned from school alone.

He’d closed his eyes, for a mere second, and Adam abruptly landed beside him. ‘It’s beautiful.’

His face was too, in a way. Strange, but beautiful, like he was something else Ronan had dreamed.

Ronan reached for his hand, to confirm, again, that he was flesh and blood, or whatever came close to it in the Good Place. Adam let him take it.

‘I’m glad we didn’t meet.’ He said, quietly.

Ronan ignored his stomach’s flip of embarrassment, the rapid flush of heat to his face.

‘I don’t think I would have liked you.’ Adam continued. ‘It would have… ruined this.’

 _This_ …

‘I would have ruined it.’ Ronan interpreted. He was too warm for any kind of annoyance to enter his head. His hand was tingling.

‘Not just you.’ Aglionby permitted. ‘I would have helped.’

‘Mutual ruining.’ Ronan hummed. ‘That’s poetic.’

Adam might have laughed, Ronan wasn’t certain. ‘Jesus, Lynch.’

‘What?’ Ronan tipped his head against the grass to stare at him. ‘What?’

‘You should get some sleep.’ Adam advised gently.

‘I’m not tired.’ He wasn’t. He was motionless, and heavy limbed, and the kind of relaxed only alcohol-fused dreams produced, but he wasn’t tired. He kept watching Adam, blinking dazedly, focusing and refocusing on the warmth of Aglionby’s hand against his own.

His eyes closed… opening them again was nearly impossible. He murmured; ‘What’s in the trailer?’

There was an almost imperceptible pause. ‘My past.’ Adam’s voice was a whisper. ‘My parents.’

Ronan frowned, blindly, into the grass. He already didn’t like them, hated the way Adam reacted. ‘Do you miss them?’

Another pause, longer. ‘Yes.’ He was so quiet. ‘They won’t miss me.’

Ronan opened his eyes, scowled. He didn’t doubt Aglionby’s sincerity, but he had an excess of anger to expend… anger that had been bafflingly pointless since he’d arrived. A new target, a concrete target, and Aglionby’s measured, unreadable expression, made him furious.

‘They didn’t deserve you.’

He didn’t know what he was talking about, _who_ he was talking about, except that Adam was here with him and _his_ , for a moment, for now. Any harm to Adam, before or after death, Ronan was determined to take personally.

Adam allowed a strained smile. ‘That’s what they thought, too.’

‘Fork them.’ Ronan said venomously. ‘What would they know?’

‘Everything there is to know.’ Adam answered softly. ‘About me. They _made_ me.’

‘No.’ Ronan insisted. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘How does it work?’ Adam’s tone was soft. He was taking pity, on Ronan’s inebriated insensibility. ‘Who else would know?’

‘No one.’ Ronan said firmly. ‘But you. No one would.’

‘Ronan-’ _Sympathetic_.

‘My father was murdered.’ Ronan cut in, sharper than intended. ‘My mother’s catatonic. I don’t know _why_ , Aglionby. I was… I… There was something _wrong_ with me, and I was… the only one who knew.’

Except for Declan, probably. _Declan_. The sudden bite of grief intensified Ronan’s frustration.

‘Wrong?’

_Wrong. Unnatural. Inhuman._

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He sighed, an unspoken and unmodified curse poised on his tongue. Aglionby didn’t comment. He wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t care-

‘They hated me.’ Adam said suddenly. ‘I’m… not normal. There’s something wrong with me… too.’

Ronan almost said _it’s not the same_. Adam didn’t see things, wasn’t haunted by dreams, but he was _haunted_. And different. Brilliant. Broken. Alone.

Aglionby took a breath, and exhaled, slow and even. ‘Go to sleep, Ronan.’

Ronan settled his head back into the grass, relinquishing the urge to let his anger flare up, to pick a fight. He didn’t want a fight with Aglionby.

He lifted his hand, pulling Adam’s with it, and pressed his lips lightly to Adam’s knuckles. A few seconds later and the world faded to darkness.

 


End file.
